


Krasavchik

by after_avenging_hours



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, F/M, Heavy on the smut, bit of an emotional roller coaster, winter soldier smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/after_avenging_hours/pseuds/after_avenging_hours
Summary: While under orders from Karpov to test the Soldat’s loyalties to Hydra, you find yourself questioning your own loyalties.  How much longer can you justify staying with such an organization?  Especially after you've fallen in love with their greatest weapon.





	1. Krasavchik

**Author's Note:**

> Красавчик : Krasavchik : Handsome; a teasing term of endearment
> 
> Side note: I wrote this series after watching Civil War, but before Black Panther and Infinity War came out, so it diverges away from how Bucky heals from his triggers in Canon MCU

You didn’t know his name, if he even had one.  For all you know, he’s been with Hydra from the day he was born and was actually named  _Soldat_. Of course you were curious.  But you would never dare go around asking questions.  Questions got you killed.

You get called into Karpov’s office.  Your posture is stiff, face devoid of emotions.  You knock on his door and wait until he gives you permission before entering.

“You requested my presence, Colonel Karpov?” you ask in Russian, keeping your eyes lowered in submission.

He looks up, his gaze washing over you, studying you.  “Have you noticed the way the  _Soldat_ looks at you?” he finally asks.

Your brows furrow and you tilt your head ever so slightly in confusion. “I do not understand.”

“He watches you.  Sometimes even when he is on orders.”

You frown, “Are you saying I should be avoiding him, Colonel?”

He leans back in his seat, his gaze washing over you once more. “No.  In fact, I am saying the opposite.  The Stark mission affected him in ways we did not predict.  He hasn’t grown defiant yet, but we fear he may be on that path.  We need something that will pull his focus back to our cause.  And there is no easier way to manipulate a man than with a woman.  We can get into his mind, but you, Dorogusha, can get into his soul.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Give him a reason to be here.”

* * *

 

A few days later, you find yourself gearing up for a mission with the Winter Soldier.  As far as he’s concerned, you’re there as his tech specialist.  The goal: infiltrate a military base and collect data on their top wanted list, so Hydra knows who to provide support to.  His goal is to get you in and out without being seen.  Any death of military personnel would alert them to your presence, so this was a no kill mission.  Although it’s not like anyone would be able to tell with the amount of weaponry the asset still carried.

He leads you down various hallways of the maze-like building, having been programmed to know the layout before you both departed the Hydra base. You move to step around a corner, only to have the wind knocked out of you when his metal arm wraps around your waist and yanks you back.  He moves you both into the shadows, his other hand coming up to cup over your mouth. His grip on you is almost uncomfortably tight, but you know better than to struggle against him.

After a few silent seconds, you hear footsteps beginning to approach. You slow your breathing, relaxing yourself into his hold.  You can’t even hear his own breathing because he’s wearing the mask that shields the bottom half of his face.  A soldier walks passed, rifle, propped against his shoulder.  He doesn’t notice your presence and continues on his way. His footsteps have long since passed before the Soldat releases you.

“Za mnoy,” he orders in a low voice.   _Follow me_.

He walks down the hall, moving in the opposite direction from the soldier. You follow closely, despite his hurried pace.  He stops at a locked door and waits for you to pull out the security card that you’ve been provided with.  You swipe the card, watching the light above change from red to green before you open the door.  The Soldat follows behind as you enter.

You walk up to one of the computers, pulling out the hard disk you have stashed in your belt.  You insert the disk and initiate the downloading procedure.

Glancing over, you notice that the Soldat remains near the door, hand resting on his holstered weapon.

“Do you ever relax?” you ask, your voice seeming to echo in the empty room.

His gaze flickers to you, but he doesn’t respond.  The blue of his eyes seems to glow in contrast to the black of his mask and hair.  The corner of your mouth tilts up in a smirk before you turn back to the computer. You can feel his gaze continuing to burn into you, but you focus on your task.  After the information has been downloaded, you pull out the disk and place it safely back in its pouch on your belt.

“Idom,” you tell him.   _Let’s go_.

He takes the lead once more, guiding you out of the building without being seen.  It’s a bit of a walk to get to his motorcycle, but it needed to be parked out of sight and far away enough that no one would hear the roar of the engine.

He throws his leg over the seat, grabbing the handles and tilting the bike until it’s sitting upright.  You climb on after him, pushing yourself forward until your thighs are framing his and your breasts are pressed flush to his back.  Your arms curl around his torso, feeling the taut muscles of his abdomen beneath the layers of his uniform.  If he’s affected by your proximity, he doesn’t show it.  The roar of the engine surrounds you before he takes off.

The drive to the safe house is uneventful.  There’s no one on the road this late at night to be worried about being seen.  Once the bike is parked, you slide off the back seat, making your way up the steps to the front door.  You can’t hear the Soldat, but you feel his presence behind you as you unlock and open the door.

You leave him to his own devices as you make your way to your bedroom in the back.  You strip out of your tactical gear, pulling out a set of pajamas from the duffel bag that sits at the end of the bed.  The soft fabric is a nice contrast to the harsh texture of your uniform.  You button up the shirt before slipping into the matching set of loose shorts.

Your bare feet pad softly against the hardwood floors as you make your way down the hall and into the kitchen.  You find the Soldat has taken a seat at the table, the chair twisted out at an angle.  His human hand rests casually on the table top, the metal one sits on the top of his thigh.  He has a faraway look in his eyes, clearly lost in his thoughts.

You briefly wonder what he could be thinking as you enter the room. Your movement draws his attention and his eyes harden once more.  He watches you like a predator as you step over to the cupboards to grab a glass. Going to the sink, you fill your glass with water.  You then turn back to face him, resting back against the counter.

You’re both silent for a long moment, merely observing each other from across the room.  You raise the glass to your lips, taking a long slow drink, all the while maintaining eye contact.  It’s difficult to tell whether or not he reacts with his face mask still in place. You smirk to yourself as if he has. “I know you are undressing me with your eyes,” you tease.  You set the glass down on the counter before you walk over to him, hips swaying.

The only change in his demeanor is the slight clench of his fingers against the table top.  He watches you move closer, but the emotion in his eyes remains impassive.  You wonder for a moment if he’s even capable of emotion, or if Hydra completely scrubbed that out of him.

You don’t stop until your bare knee is brushing against the black fabric covering his.  Your gaze washes over his face, looking for any trace of the human inside the machine. Your hands slowly reach out for him, but stop when he shifts back.  He eyes you warily, and you know he has every reason to.  You’ve heard his screams echoing throughout the base, though women were never allowed in the room during the pre-mission process.

“It’s alright,” you tell him, lowering your voice into a soothing lull. You wait for a beat before continuing to move and this time, he remains in place.  Your fingers brush over the sides of his mask, unlatching the clasps before moving it away from him.  You place it down on the table.  Turning back to him, your gaze washes over his unobscured face.  “There.  That’s better.”

His nostrils flare, but he continues to remain silent.

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer, knowing your question is probably rhetorical.  He stiffens, when instead of sitting in a chair, you throw your leg over his, and lower yourself into his lap.  Your arms wrap loosely over his shoulders.

You raise an eyebrow in challenge.  “Am I making you uncomfortable, Soldat?”

His gaze narrows dangerously.  “ _Don’t_  call me that.” He growls, his voice low and husky from lack of use.

Your lips curl upward in satisfaction.  “So you  _can_  talk.”  You notice the muscle in his jaw tick as he clenches his teeth.  You release a soft laugh of amusement.  “Alright…  _Krasavchik_ ,” you tease.

He looks confused by your choice of name, his brows knitting ever so slightly.

“What?” you ask.  “You do not think you are handsome?”

For a moment, you think he’s gone back to giving you the silent treatment before his lips part and he speaks.  “I do not think anything if it is not allowed of me,” the response seems almost programed into him, however, there is an edge of bitterness you know is not part of any programming.

You hum quietly, your gaze roaming over his face.  “Well, whether or not you think it, you are in fact, quite handsome.”  Your fingers come up to trace his cheek.  “Such strong cheek bones.  Piercing blue eyes.  Plump, red lips.  I am sure you were once a very good kisser.”

You stare blatantly at his lips, your thumb tracing underneath. Without giving him much time to react, you lean in until your lips are brushing over his in a gentle caress.

He pulls back and stands up abruptly, nearly catching you off guard as you cling to him to keep from falling.  Turning his torso, he sets you down on the edge of the table.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

You keep your face composed as you look up at him.  “Softening you up.”

His right brow twitches.  “Why?”

You take in a deep breath, knowing that this could be the very moment he kills you.  “Because Karpov asked me to,” you tell him honestly.  You feel his hands squeezing your hips.  “And…” you continue, slowly straightening your spine and lifting your gaze to his. “Because I want to.”

He stares you down, his eyes becoming a steel grey, not unlike the glinting blade of the knives you know he has on his person.  “What does Karpov want now?”

You have no reason to lie to him, so you tell him the truth.  “He fears you are growing defiant.  He asked me to provide you with a reason to remain loyal.”

His gaze drops, giving you a once over.  “What use could I have for a whore?”

You glare up at him, completely insulted.  You grasp the front of his uniform with both hands and yank him closer. “Don’t you  _dare_  call me that!” you spit out, like a feral cat.

The corner of his mouth tilts up mere fractions of an inch.  “Alright…  _Krasavitsa_.”

For a second, you feel your heart stop.  Because he’s  _teasing_  you.  You didn’t even think he was capable of it.

Your shock amuses him, though you wouldn’t even be able to tell just from watching him.  “What? You don’t think you are beautiful?” he asks.

You don’t even know how to respond to that.  Your grip on his uniform goes lax, although you don’t completely let go.

His gaze washes over your face, lingering for a moment on your parted lips. “Karpov told you to seduce me?” he asks for confirmation.

You swallow thickly, “Not exactly in those words.  But yes.”

“And you agreed?  Why?” his gaze catches yours once more, reading you before you’ve even spoken.

You raise a brow.  “You say that like I was given a choice.”

He scoffs humorlessly, knowing more than anyone that there is no choice when Karpov gives you orders.

Your gaze flickers between his steely blues.  “He said that you would watch me.”

He contemplates his response for a moment.  “In all my time with Hydra… I’ve never seen someone that’s been so easy to read.  You are an open book, Krasavitsa.”

Your heartbeat increases, though not from fear.  “And what are my pages telling you?”

His hands on your hips pull you closer to the edge of the table, until the insides of your thighs are brushing against his.  His head tilts down to yours, his breath fanning across your lips with each exhale.  “I want to hear you say it.”

“Ya khochu tebya” you whisper.   _I want you_.

A predatory growl rips out of his throat before his lips are consuming yours. You moan loudly, your head tilting back in submission.  His kiss is harsh and savage, driven by lust and a hunger that’s eaten away at him for longer than you can even imagine.  One of your hands remains on his uniform, while the other curls around the back of his neck.

You push your chest out, molding your body to his.  You can feel the hard texture of his uniform through the thin layer of your pajama top.  One of his hands moves from your hip to your lower back, keeping you pinned to him. Your need for him grows the longer he has his mouth on you.

When the need to breathe becomes too great to ignore, you pull back. Your gaze drops down to your hand which rests on his chest.  It begins a slow decent downward, gliding over the roughened leather.  The further south, you go, the more you realize how complicated his uniform is.  

“Why are there so many buckles?!” you groan in frustration.

He smirks, his gaze following the path of your hand “I didn’t design it.”

You bite your bottom lip, looking back up at him.  “Can I just cut it off?”

A muscle in his cheek twitches.  He wants to laugh, but the action is so foreign, he doesn’t believe he can.  “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“It would be easier,” you mumble, curling your fingers around the sternum strap to his submachine gun holster.  Once it’s loose, you push the shoulder straps away, letting the back plate fall to the floor.  Your hands travel down to the weapon belt around his waist.  It unclips easily enough and soon lands on the floor. Starting from the bottom, you begin to unfasten the buttons on his uniform.  You’ve just finished the third one when you release an aggravated huff. “You  _could_  help me,” you glance up at him.

“But you are doing so well, Krasavitsa.”

You narrow your gaze at him, continuing your movements, this time with a note of hostility.  “This better be worth it, Krasavchik.”

“Patience is not one of your virtues.”  He’s teasing you again.

You finally rip off the last button, pulling the fabric away, you are relieved to find that there’s just a zipper hidden underneath, not more buttons. You grab the tab between your fingers and pull it down.  The sound is like music to your ears as inch by inch of lightly tanned skin is revealed to you.  The zipper hits the bottom of its track before a swift tug pulls it free and the fabric separates.

Your hands are on him instantly, unable to resist the sight before you.  His abs are tightly coiled, the muscles becoming more defined with each exhale. His skin is surprisingly smooth to the touch.  And he’s so warm, he’s like a goddamn furnace.  Your hands continue their ascent and you notice the small shiver your touch manages to pull out of him.

Glancing up, you realize he’s already watching you with a hooded gaze. Your lips curl into a soft smile. “Tell me, when was the last time you were touched by a woman?”

He doesn’t respond.

Your smile turns into a knowing grin.  “That long, huh?”  Your fingers move outward, pushing the leather over his shoulders.  The juxtaposition of flesh and metal immediately grabs your attention as his jacket falls to the floor.  You can’t help but run your fingers over the scar tissue there. Your hand is soon yanked back, his metal fingers holding your wrist in a firm grasp.  Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, unable to tear your gaze from his fist.  If he chose to do so, he could snap your wrist with that hand, just by squeezing a little tighter.

Noticing your locked-on gaze, he slowly releases his fingers, pulling his hand back.  He looks down at his palm before looking back at you.  “Are you scared?”

You stare at his hand for another moment and then lift your gaze to his. “No.”

In the next moment, his metal fingers are wrapped around your neck. “You should be,” he threatens through clenched teeth.

You keep your breaths even and steady your heartbeat.  Your gaze remains locked with his as you lean forward into his hold, feeling the pressure increase.  “But I am not.”

After a moment, his hold relaxes before falling away.  He gives you a curious look.  “You are a very strange woman.”

You smirk in amusement, “I thought you said you could read me like a book.”

“Just because I can read you doesn’t mean I can understand you.”

The comment makes you laugh joyfully.  It would seem even the Soldat was not immune to the mysteries of a woman. “I think we are getting distracted, Krasavchik,” you comment after your laughter has subsided.

“I can remedy that.”  Without further explanation, he grips either side of your night shirt before ripping it open.  Buttons go flying in all directions, clattering to the floor and bouncing several times.

You gasp, feeling a shiver crawl up your spine now that your breasts have been exposed to the cool air.  Once you’ve overcome your shock, you glare up at him.  “Oh so I can’t cut off your uniform, but you can rip apart my shirt?!”

The humor shines brightly in his eyes.  “Da.”   _Yes_.

“Durak,” you mutter dryly.   _Ass_.

He dips his head down, nearly before you can see it.  But you’re almost positive you caught a smile on his lips. Before you get the chance to comment on it, his mouth is already on your left breast.  A pleasured cry is ripped from your lips, one hand falling to his hair while the nails of your other hand dig into his muscular back.  Arching your own back, you push your chest even more into his waiting mouth.  His tongue feels like molten lava against your sensitive nipple, piping hot and oh so wet.

The silk fabric of your shirt falls off your shoulders, only to be caught on your bent elbows.  Your mind is too delirious with pleasure to care.  “Krasavchik,” you moan feeling the tug on your breast when he sucks your nipple between his teeth.

He’s not exactly gentle about it, but he’s very good at dancing that fine line between pleasure and pain.  Your knees squeeze at his hips, trying desperately to do something that might just stave off the ache growing between your thighs.

His hands come up to cradle your back as he starts to lean forward. Taking the hint, you slowly lean back until you are flat with the table.  His hands slide out from beneath you.  He holds his right hand against your lower abdomen, while the left slides up and cups around your second breast.

You emit a quiet squeak, the cold metal a stark contrast to his hot mouth. Your nipple hardens even more under his touch as he teases you with light squeezes.  His hand shifts position, allowing his thumb to swipe over your peak in smooth strokes.  The hard metal is unyielding to your sensitive skin, making the strokes more prominent than if they were from flesh fingers.

You cry out loudly, back arching up when he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  Removing his mouth, he moves to your second breast, allowing his tongue to lick away the pain.

“Krasavchik, please.”  You can feel a tremor building in your thighs, the ache inside you growing to a thrumming pulse.  You weren’t above begging.  Especially not for him.

With a parting lap of his tongue, he lifts his face away.  He straightens back up, his gaze washing over your form, spread out across the table like a feast that’s been prepared specifically for him.  His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, eyes darkening to a near black.

His fingers ghost over your waist, traveling down to slip into the elastic of your shorts.  He begins to pull them down your body, hooking his fingers into your panties along the way.  The descent of his hands along your legs seems to take forever before you finally feel the fabric sliding passed your feet.

The Soldat lifts one leg over his right shoulder and guides the other around his hip, leaving you completely open to him.  His human hand starts at your knee, and using just the very tips of his fingers, he slides down your thigh, making a bee-line for your dripping center. His hand stops, fingers spread over your lower abdomen while his thumb slips downward to reach in between your folds.

A soft sigh slips from your lips, your eyes falling shut.  He watches your body open up to him even more, your slick coating the pad of his thumb and making his motions even easier.  He moves up to circle your clit, watching in fascination as your hips jerk up in response.

You release a low whine of protest when his hand pulls back. Opening your eyes, you lift your head to look at what he might be doing.  You’re relieved to find him shuffling out of the remainder of his clothing. And he’s doing it much faster than you could have.

His right hand strokes the length of his cock, preparing himself as he shifts his hips closer.  His left reaches for your hip, framing the outside of your thigh with his forearm to keep it pinned against him.  His gaze travels up your entire body, before he’s meeting your gaze once more. “There’s no going back, Krasavitsa” he tells you, not even giving you the option to.

“I told you that I wanted this.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs, before he’s pushing into you. Your lips part, the breath escaping your lungs.  You feel the delicious stretch of your walls trying to accommodate for the Soldat’s full length.  Just when you begin to think he might be fully seated, he would push in just a little more.  You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full.

He releases a low grunt, feeling you walls flutter around him from all sides.  It’s almost too much.  He pulls his hips back, waiting fractions of a second before slamming forward.  Just one solid thrust from him and the table slides a good few inches across the floor, emitting a loud screech.  You gasp, reaching out for his shoulders.  He bends down, nearly pushing your raised knee to your chest, and reaches his right arm out to grasp the opposite end of the table.

With the next thrust, the table seems to groan in protest, but it remains in place.  After that, he has no issues with building up a rhythm.  His pace is brutal, almost punishing.  The look in his eyes is positively feral, it’s difficult to see the man inside the hunter.  Instead of releasing moans and groans, he’s mostly silent, his panting breaths fanning across your skin, separated only by an occasional grunt.

You’re the one making most of the noise, vocalizing your breaths with whimpers and soft cries.  He seems to enjoy your verbal articulations.  Burying his face into your neck, he’s able to feel the vibrations in your body as the sounds escape your throat.

“Krasa-Ah!”  Your head falls back when you feel his teeth sink into your shoulder.  Not enough to draw blood, but definitely with the intent to leave a mark.  

His tongue laves away the sting of the fresh bite, sucking tenderly at the spot until the pain has dissipated.  His mouth glides over your collar bone, leaving small kisses and nips, but none nearly as bad as the first.

You lift your hips to shamelessly rub your clit against his pelvic bone.  You feel the pressure building up inside you and know you’re getting close.  “I-” you cut yourself off with a gasp.  “I need you to touch me,” you beg, your legs squeezing around him.

With his right hand holding the table in place, that leaves his left for doing as you’ve requested.  His hips never falter as his metallic fingers glide down to the juncture of your thighs. The metal has grown hot from being pressed to your skin, but the texture of metal instead of flesh still comes as a shock to your overly sensitized clit.  He doesn’t have to press very hard to receive an exaggerated reaction.  Just a few short swipes and you’re done for.

“Krasavchik, oh!” your back arches up, molding every inch of bare skin to his.  The pleasure is intense, crawling up your spine in unrelenting waves.

Feeling your body squeeze him like a vice sends him into a frenzy.  He bucks wildly, the table shifting once again with each thrust, despite his efforts to keep it still.  His low grunts now come with each thrust, spurred on by the pleasurable sensations filling his entire being.  He’s felt either nothing or pain for so long, he’d forgotten what pleasure even felt like.  He forgot how all-consuming it was.  How addicting it was.  How he never wanted it to stop.

He feels the small bolts of pleasure lick up his spine, carefully increasing in intensity, until he’s hit with one on full blast.  He releases his first groan, the sound reverberating from deep within his chest.  His hips jerk to a stop, cum filling you in short bursts.  You keep your body curled around him as his entire frame shakes.

The two of you remain joined long after the pleasure has faded to low tingles.  Pulling away meant coming back to reality.  And reality was a dark place.  He keeps his face buried into your neck and you soothingly run your fingers through his hair.

The Soldat feels conflicted.  He knows he should pull away.  That this whole thing was just another Hydra trick to pull him even further under.  But on the other hand, he knew he’d never get an opportunity to do this again.  To  _feel_  this again.  There was no way to tell when they’d put him back on ice.  And beyond that, it was impossible to discern when they’d let him back out.  How many years would pass before he sees you again.  Would you even be alive?

Would he even remember you if he saw you again?

He pulls his head back, opening his eyes.  He follows your every curve, hoping to implant the image in his mind for however long they will allow it to be there.  You look up at him with a lidded gaze.  Your hand reaches up to gently wipe the crease from his brow. This is the most human you’ve ever seen him.

“What do we do now, Krasavchik?” you ask in a soft voice.

His gaze connects with your once more, his mind made up.  “We don’t have to report back until morning.  I hope you weren’t planning on getting much sleep tonight, Krasavitsa.”


	2. Krasavitsa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Красавица : Krasavitsa : Beauty, Looker, Venus

The soft echo of your boots on concrete fills your ears as you walk down the corridor to your sleeping quarters.  The hallway is mostly empty and you’re perfectly happy with that.  You didn’t really want to deal with anyone after a long day of working.

You were finding it more and more difficult each day to form a valid reason for why you should stay here.  Unlike most in the facility, you didn’t choose Hydra.  You had been forced into it because of familial obligations.  You knew that much of what they did wasn’t right. But for the longest time, you had just ducked your head and went along with it all.  You didn’t know how much longer you could do that.  Guilt had already begun to eat away at your conscience. Pretty soon, there won’t be anything left.

You come to a stop as you approach the door to your room.  You open it and step through, releasing a soft sigh. Just as you turn to shut the door and click the lock in place, you feel it.  A presence behind you.  You find a smile beginning to grow on your lips.  “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

You feel his warmth envelop you, moments before his chest presses to your back.  You feel his breath against your ear, “Are you going to send me away?”

You tilt your head, exposing your neck to him.  “You know that I won’t.”

His hands reach out to your hips, pulling you in until your bodies mold together.  “They haven’t sent us on a mission together for several weeks.”  His head drops, lips ghosting over your pulse.

Your eyes fall shut, a content sigh escaping your lips.  “Karpov thinks I have been distracting you.”

You feel the twitch of his mouth against your neck.  “Well you  _are_  very distracting, Krasavitsa.”

You grin in amusement, turning in his hold to face the man who had become the one reason you were staying here.  You knew it was the biggest risk you could ever take, falling in love with “The Fist of Hydra”, but the more time you spent with him, the easier it was to see the man within.  He wasn’t a machine.  He had his own thoughts and feelings.

It was a bit of a contradiction.  He was the one thing keeping you here.  And yet, you would give anything to take him away from all of this.  With all the measures in place to keep him from turning on everyone, you knew that it wasn’t his choice to be here.  You hated the way he was treated, as if he were nothing more than an animal.  He didn’t deserve this.

He watches the pensive look on your face.  Reaching his hand up, his warm fingers brush some of your hair back behind your ear.  “What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him, his crystal colored eyes pulling you in.  You try to give him a small reassuring smile. “It’s nothing.  I just have a lot on my mind, is all.”

His gaze washes over your features, reading you in ways words cannot describe.  His eyes soften, ever so slightly, but it’s a change you never would have seen in him a few months ago.  “Perhaps you are the one in need of a distraction tonight,” he tells you.

Your smile grows into one that is more genuine as your hands reach up to cup his cheeks.  You bring his face closer to yours.  “I’m sure I could be convinced,” you mutter before brushing your lips against his.

His hands pull you in by the waist, molding your body to his as his lips slant over yours.  You hum your appreciation, moving a hand around to cup the back of his neck.  His kiss is teasingly slow, trying to build up your anticipation.

Your fingers glide down the front of his uniform, undoing buttons as you go.  You’ve grown accustomed to the complexity of it, so it’s now easier for you to get off. After the material has fallen to the floor, your hands glide over his skin.  You love the way his muscles bunch and coil under your touch.

Following your lead, his hands are soon removing your own uniform.  Once the two of you are bared to each other, he lifts your body into his arms and takes you to the bed.  His hips are cradled between your thighs, chests brushing with every breath.  His lips depart from yours, running down your neck with a gentle caress.

He had recently developed a fondness for cherishing your body with his mouth.  His would kiss very single inch of skin, searching for the spots that made you moan and the spots that made you squirm.  He was never satisfied until you were a writhing mess beneath him.  He never forgot the position of your weak spots. Any time a new one was found, the information was catalogued somewhere deep in his brain, waiting to be used for the right moment.  And with careful precision, he’d target those spots, forcing out a pleasured cry or a whimpering gasp whenever he saw fit.

His lips travel down the valley of your breasts, nipping and sucking as they go.  “Krasavchik…” you moan, arching your back to his ministrations.

“Mmm?”  His hum is low and husky.  It sends shivers up your spine.

“Ya khochu tebya,” you tell him.   _I want you_.

His lips ghost over your belly button.  “Vot on ya.”  _I’m here_.  He nips at a spot on your lower abdomen that makes your body shiver.

You groan in frustration, lifting your hips up.  “You know what I mean.”

His hands grip your hips to push your body back down onto the mattress and he holds you in place.  “Is this better, Krasavitsa?” he asks, moments before his tongue is licking a long stripe up your pussy.

A surprised squeak rips out of your throat.  He doesn’t even give you time to recover before he’s already devouring you.  “Oh yes…” you breathe, your eyes falling shut as his tongue circles your clit.

He laps at your folds in slow stokes, eager to have your taste filling his mouth.  His gaze flicks up, allowing him to watch your reactions.  Your lips always part in a soft sigh whenever his tongue glides over your clit.  Your brows scrunch together when he swipes over the length of your slit.  And your hands clench the sheets beneath you when his pushes his tongue inside you.

He takes his time, confident in his ability to make you reach your end. He is rewarded for his patience when you begin to squirm.  Your soft, whimpering sighs fill his ears, encouraging him to pick up the pace. After a few more extended strokes of his tongue along your folds, he focuses his attentions back to your clit.

You have grown more sensitive as your climax has begun to build.  Your hips rock up against his mouth, your body guided by its need for release.  He sucks the bundle into his mouth, his tongue lapping at it excessively.

Your hands curl into his hair, keeping him in place where you need him most. He slips a finger into your warmth, curling it against your upper wall.  That’s exactly what you needed to push you over the edge.

Your thighs clamp around his head, back arching off the bed.  “Krasavchik!”

He continues to rub against your sensitive spot, his mouth easing off your clit.  Your body seems to vibrate beneath him, shivers running up your spine and breaths escaping you in shaky pants.  He waits for your body to release him before he removes his fingers.

He uses the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth before he’s crawling back up the bed.  “Are you distracted, yet?” he asks.

You watch him through lidded eyes and shake your head. “Yeshyo.”  _More._

He raises an eyebrow, stretching his body out next to yours, propping himself up on his elbow.  “More? I did not realize you were so greedy, Krasavitsa.”

Your lips curl into a satisfied smile.  “You have yet to obtain your own pleasure, Krasavchik.  I am merely looking out for you.”

His mouth twitches into a small smirk.  “Believe me, I derived great pleasure from watching you receive yours.”

You hum in slight disbelief, your hand grazing down the length of his chest until your fingers have curled around the base of his hardened cock.  “It seems to not have been enough pleasure.”

His gaze darkens and the muscle in his jaw ticks when your hand strokes at his length.  “And how do you suggest I acquire this pleasure.”

“However you want to.”

His hand reaches out to your hip, pulling your body in closer.  You feel his breath teasing your lips as he dips his head down, but not enough to initiate a kiss.  “Should I take it, or will you give it to me?”

Your smile grows, “It doesn’t matter, because my body already belongs to you.”

Your words seem to catch him off guard.  He pulls his face back and gives you a curious look.  “Belongs… to me?”

You pull your hand away from his shaft and rest it against his chest. “Yes,” you confirm sincerely.  “You own me, Krasavchik,” you tell him honestly.

This only seems to confuse him further.  “How can I own you when I do not even own myself?”

His question makes your heart clench.  Reaching your hand up, you brush your knuckles against his roughened cheek. “Because the reality here in the bedroom is different from the one out there.  You are not the Soldat here.  You are a man, just as I am a woman.  I am  _your_  woman.”

He shakes his head, his brow furrowing.  “I do not want to own you,” he states.  In his experience,  _owning_  a person was not a good thing.  He couldn’t wrap his head around the concept you were trying to explain to him.

You smile at his naivety.  “You already do.”  Your palm flattens against his cheek.  “I’m sure you’ll understand one day.”

He leans his cheek against your palm.  “I… own you… because we are having sex?” he asks, still trying to figure this out.

You release a short laugh of amusement, your thumb swiping over his cheek bone.  “That’s part of it, yes.  But not the entire reason.”

“And… I don’t have to take my pleasure from you, because you will give it to me.”

You nod.  “Yes. But I also don’t mind if you take. You know that I like it when you’re rough with me.”

That much he did know.

When he still seems to look a little lost, you try to put it as simply as you can.  “You are in control here, Krasavchik.  I will do whatever you ask.”

This seems to get through to him.  And for the first time, he realizes how much trust you have in him.  He had the ability to destroy you and yet, here you were, at your most vulnerable, giving him complete control.  It made a foreign feeling of warmth blossom in his chest.

“Lay on your stomach,” he instructs.

You do as he’s requested without question.  His hand brushes your hair over your shoulder, leaving your back exposed to his wandering gaze.  He shifts to position himself over you, his knees settling on either side of your thighs. Keeping himself up on all fours, he leans down until his lips brush against the base of your neck.  He starts a series of kisses down the column of your spine.

“You will give me whatever I want?” he asks, lips pressed to your skin in between your shoulder blades.

“Yes.”

He continues the trail.  “I don’t have to take?”

“No.”

“But you like it when I do.”  His words flutter against your lower back.

“Yes.  My body is yours.”

“Lift your hips.”

You do so, feeling his hands on you from either side.  Your slick still coats the inside of your thighs from his earlier ministrations.  Pushing his hips closer, he slides the length of his cock against your folds, feeling your wetness coating him.  With a hand on his base, he lines himself up with your entrance and begins to sink into you.

You bury your face into the sheets, pushing your hips back to accept all of him.  His hands keep you in place as he starts to thrust, shallowly at first before he picks up the pace and pushes in deeper.  From this angle, he’s able to go deeper than he normally does and it makes you groan.  He fills you so completely, it’s enough to make your head spin.

Leaning forward slightly, his right hand continues to hold your hip while his left brushes up your side.  His hand curls underneath, moving up your chest.  He gives your breast a playful squeeze before his hand slides over your collarbone and flattens out.  With the strength in his metallic arm, it’s not difficult to lift your upper half until both of you are upright, on your knees.

He keeps his hand wrapped loosely around your neck, his forearm flush between your breasts.  His thrusts never stop, undeterred from this shift in position.  You feel his breath on your neck once more.  His lips brush against the shell of your ear.  “You are mine,” he comments, finally beginning to understand.

“Yes, Krasavchik.”  You accompany your words with a slight roll over your hips when he sinks into you.

A low growl of approval reverberates from deep within his chest. His fingers tighten ever so slightly around your neck.  “Do you ever think that your trust in me may be misplaced?”

You shake your head, leaning it back on his shoulder.  “Never.”

“Why not?”

You reach your hand back to thread your fingers in his hair.  “Because I know you would never hurt me.”

His hand slides up your neck, fingers brushing against your jaw to tilt your chin until his mouth can connect with yours.  His right hand slides from your hips and down your abdomen.  He uses two fingers to circle your clit in light swirls.  His left grips the back of your neck to keep you from pulling out of the kiss.  He swallows your moans as your hips begin to jerk against his fingers of their own accord.

His cock continues to drive into you from behind.  You don’t last much longer.  He feels your thighs shake against his, your ass grinding into his hips as your back arches.  You hand grips the wrist of his right hand when his touch becomes too much for your sensitized clit.

He quickly follows after you, feeling the pleasure consume him.  He likes having your body pressed tightly to his as you both ride out your orgasms.  His body shivers in response to yours, goose bumps rippling across his flesh despite the heat coursing through his body.  Your sweaty skin sticks to his, making it feel like your bodies have fused together.

His thrust slow before coming to an eventual stop.  His body is spent as he gently pulls out and guides you both down onto the mattress.  He rolls onto his side, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist.  He doesn’t want to let you go.

You turn around in his hold until you are facing him.  His hand pulls your top leg up and over his hip as his head dips down, his forehead resting against your collar bone.  His quickened breaths fan across you skin in short bursts. You smile in amusement, running your fingers through his hair to push it out of his face.  “You should go back before they notice you’re gone,” you tell him, though you make no effort to push him away.

His hand at your back pulls you in even closer.  “Just a few minutes.”

And you know you can’t deny him.  Your nails scratch soothingly against his scalp until his breaths have evened out.  It still surprises you to see the transformation that overcomes him when he sleeps.  His hard features seem to soften up, as if all his worries have faded away.  He looks like any other man.

You must have underestimated your own tiredness, because after a few more minutes of watching over him your eyes begin to droop.  And soon, you’re following him into the realm of sleep.

* * *

“What is the meaning of this?!”

Your eyes shoot open with a start.  Before you can even process what’s happening, the Soldat is already in a defensive crouch over you.  Pushing yourself up, you look over his shoulder to find Colonel Karpov standing in your doorway.  Your heart nearly beats out of your chest.

“Soldat.  On your feet!”

He hesitates for a moment longer than he should have, and that’s when you know it’s all over.  You scramble for a blanket to cover your nakedness as the Soldat slowly moves away from you.  His muscles are tense, but he seems unbothered by his nudity as he stands.

Karpov glances away, and sneer on his lips.  “Get dressed!”  His hardened gaze shifts to you.  “I told you to stay away from him.”

“Vasily-”

“You will address me as  _Colonel_ Karpov!” he cuts you off.

You snap your mouth shut, knowing that there isn’t anything you could say that would diffuse this situation.  The Soldat grabs his pants off the floor and pulls them on.

“Get up.  You are coming with us,” Karpov orders you.

“I am naked,” you protest.

He scoffs, moving to your closed bathroom door to pull your bathrobe off the hook on the back.  He tosses it violently in your direction.  Catching it, you slip your arms through and pull it closed.  You tie it off quickly before pushing yourself off the bed.

“Let’s go.”  Leaving no room for discussion, Karpov turns on his heel to leave.

Glancing over, you find the Soldat has his eyes on you.  You notice the slight crease between his brows. He’s worried.  You give him a tight-lipped smile.  “It’ll be okay, Krasavchik,” you tell him in a soft voice.  Your attempt to reassure him doesn’t sound very convincing, even to your own ears.

The two of you walk out the room, following Karpov.  The concrete floor is a harsh, unforgiving cold against your bare feet.  You are led out to the main room of the base.  Several scientists stand around, looking at the computers, they look up upon your entrance.  The five other Winter Soldiers stand at attention, their focus drawn into the Soldat.

“Restrain her,” Karpov orders, gesturing to you.

“What?” you ask startled before two of the soldiers have grabbed each of your arms.  They pull you back, away from the Soldat.  Their hold is uncomfortably tight, just a fraction more and they’d be fracturing your bones.

Karpov gives the Soldat a pointed look.  “Soldat, what is your status?”

He glances briefly at Karpov before he gazes straight ahead.  “Ya gotov otvechat’,” he responds robotically.  _Ready to comply_.

Karpov sneers wickedly.  He pulls a gun out of his hip holster and steps closer.  He puts the gun in the Soldat’s hand.  “Shoot her,” he orders.

Your eyes widen and you try to fight against the soldiers holding you.  It’s no use, with the serum flowing through their veins, there was no stopping them. You bite your lip to suppress a whimper when they twist your arms back at an uncomfortable angle.

The Soldat observes you for a long moment.  His hand tightens around the handle of the gun, but he keeps it pointed down toward the ground.  After a long moment, his lips part and he speaks, “My programming prevents me from injuring a fellow operative.”

Karpov seethes, “Not if I  _order_  you to.  Now, shoot her!”

After another second, he raises the gun.  Your shoulders drop in a shaky breath as you give him a horrified look.  The seconds tick by so slowly as he holds your gaze.  After several moments, his hand lowers.  “No.”

“No?!”

“I will not shoot her.”

“Useless!”  Grabbing the gun out of his hand, Karpov swipes the butt of it against the Soldat’s face.

You cry out in remorse, leaning forward as much as you can. You want to go to him.

“Put him in the chair.”

“No!” your screams fall on deaf ears.

Josef, the leader of the Winter Soldiers, pushes him forward.  The Soldat uncharacteristically stumbles, proving even more how far he’s shifted from the deadly assassin he was supposed to be.  Josef keeps a hand on his shoulder, as they both make their way to the chair.

The Soldat lowers down into it, his gaze meeting yours. The distress in his eyes is very subtle. You’re probably the only one that can even see it, but you know it’s there.  “Mne zhal’.”   _I’m sorry_.  He tells you.

You release a choked sob.  “Ya znayu.”   _I know_.

The machine comes to life, clamping down around his arms. His chest heaves with every breath, his hand clenching into tight fists.  Part of the machine circles around, coming to frame either side of his face.  You hear the buzz of electricity running through the system moments before his screams drown out all other sounds.

Your legs give out from underneath you and you fall to your knees.  His cries of pain seem to cut you to shreds.  His body tenses with each shock, to the point where you’re almost surprised he doesn’t just snap.

“Stop!” your shrieks can barely be heard over his. “Let him go!” you beg, your body sagging in defeat.  The tears fall freely from your face, blurring you vision and making it difficult to breathe.

You don’t know how much time has passed. It feels like years before the machine finally stops.  The Soldat releases a pained moan as he tries to catch his breath.

“Soldat what is your status?”  Karpov asks.

He doesn’t respond.

Karpov steps closer, grabbing the Soldat by the chin.  “Will you shoot her?”

The Soldat glares up at him defiantly.  “No.”

“Yeshcho raz.”   _Again_.

“Stop it!” you scream, trying with all your might to break free.  “Leave him alone!”

“Again!” Karpov repeats, glaring at the scientist stationing the machine.

It almost feels like the screams are worse the second time around.  They seem to fill every single empty space of the gigantic room.  The sound grates against your ears, drowning out your own screams.  You thrash violently against your captors, the pain of their hold no longer affecting you as the Soldat’s screams drive you to madness.

By the time the machine stops, your throat has become raw.  The tears still fall freely; you don’t see them stopping any time soon.

“Soldat?” Karpov asks.

It takes a moment for him to respond, his breaths coming out in short pants. “Ya gotov otvechat’.” He finally speaks.   _Ready to comply_.

Karpov holds the gun out in the palm of his hand.  “Take this.  And shoot her, point blank.”  He gestures with his head toward you.

The Soldat’s movements are slow, but there’s no hesitation as he wraps his hand around the gun and pushes himself out of the chair.  He stalks toward you, his steps even, though unhurried. You feel the hands holding you in place disappear as the other Soldiers step back.  You fall forward, catching yourself with your palms.

You release a pained sob, “Please.  Don’t do this,” you beg him, hoping to get through to him.

There isn’t even a hint of recognition in his gaze, just pure ice.

You close your eyes, not wanting your last image to be seeing him like this.  Seeing him stripped of the man you fell in love with.  He was nothing but a cold shell, now.  You try to picture the man you were with just moments ago.  The one who had shared your bed.  The one who had looked so peaceful when he slept.  You feel the cold hard metal of the gun barrel pressed to your forehead.  Your lips tremble and your eyes squeeze even tighter.

“Ya proshchayu tebya.”   _I forgive you_.  You mutter quietly enough that only he can hear you.  You don’t know if he’ll ever remember this moment. If he’ll ever care.  But you don’t want him to blame himself for this, if he does. You want him to know that you bare no ill will.  You know it’s not his fault.

“That’s enough, Soldat.”  Karpov’s voice cuts through the air.

Your eyes snap open as the barrel is removed and he steps back.  A gasp of air escapes your lungs, your shoulders sagging.  You look up, hoping to find a sign of your Krasavchik in the man standing before you. But he’s not there.  The Soldat looks straight ahead, eyes devoid of any emotion as he waits for further orders.

“You may leave to your quarters, Soldat.”

Without so much as a glance in your direction, he turns and leaves.  You feel your heart leaving with him.

Karpov slowly approaches you, shaking his head in disappointment.  “You are weak,” he spits out, glaring down at you. “Growing emotions for a dog.”

The anger hits you violently, making your entire body shake.  Your bare your teeth, craning your head back to look him in the eye.  “That _dog_  is more of a man than you will ever be!”

“He is a weapon!” he barks.  “Did you really think you could change him?  There’s is no humanity left.”

“You are wrong,” you grit your teeth.  “No matter how hard you try and no matter what it is you do to him… There will always be a piece inside of him that is left from the man he was, from the man he always will be.  You’ll never be able to completely wipe him.  It is impossible.”

He smirks, unworried by your threats.  “We shall see, Dorogusha.”

You growl like a savage animal.  “You underestimate his strength.  He will be the reason for your downfall.”

“Or he will just be the reason for yours.”

You lunge forward, going for the second gun at his hip.  You haven’t so much as wrapped your fingers around the hilt, before one of the other Winter Soldiers has you in their hold once again. You thrash around violently, screaming out in rage.

When you’ve been successfully subdued, Karpov steps closer once more. His hand moves swiftly, palm striking your cheek with a resounding slap.  Your head swings to the side.  “You are a disgrace to the Karpov name.”

The entire left side of your face stings with pain as you slowly turn your head back to face him. “Good,” you spit out venomously.  “I hated this fucking family anyways.”

Your older brother shakes his head slowly.  “Such a waste.  I should throw you out with the rest of the trash.”

“Go ahead,” you respond without hesitation.  Having faced death just a few minutes ago, you were no longer afraid of it.  You had already made peace with the fact that you weren’t getting out of this alive.  At least in death, you would find the freedom you’d been denied by being born into a Hydra family.  You never wanted any of this.  He’d taken the one thing that was keeping you here.  Now there was no point.

Karpov looks like he’s truly considering it for a moment before he steps back.  “She may still be of use,” he announces to those still in the room.  He turns and begins to walk away.  “Prepare her for cryostasis.”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach.  Your nails dig into the arm against your stomach as you try to break free once more. “Vasily!” you scream after your brother. “Vasily, you coward!” you cry out, the tears falling once again.  He doesn’t even react to your words, just continues to walk away.


	3. Pomnish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Помнишь : Pomnish : Remember

*Present Day*

“Buck.”  Bucky looks over from his punching bag when Steve calls out to him.  “We’ve got a hit.”

He reaches out to still the swinging bag before he steps back.  He begins to unwrap the tape from his hands as he steps over to his gym bag. “What’d you find?”

“Abandoned facility. Gear up.  We’re gonna go check it out.”

“You sure you want me there?” Bucky asks cautiously.  They were getting closer to figuring out how to stop his triggers, but the recent attempts hadn’t been completely successful yet.

“You know these places better than any of us.  Besides, Sam’s coming along too.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like Feathers can actually do anything to stop me if something happens.”

Steve smirks in amusement. “He’s been able to take you a few times in training.”

Bucky smirks back. “Only because I feel bad for him, so I let him win.”  He stuffs his wraps into the bag and swings it lazily over his shoulder before walking to Steve.

Steve shakes his head, giving his friend a knowing look.  “You’re not supposed to do that.”

Bucky shrugs.  “He gets annoying when he mopes.”

“He gets annoying when he gloats.”

The two share a laugh as they exit the gym and head to the locker rooms.  They change into their uniforms.  Bucky slips into his jacket, zipping it up to his collar.  He likes this uniform so much better than his old one. The jacket doesn’t feel as constricting, so he can actually breathe.  And it’s just one zipper, not a series of buttons.

His old uniform had been one of the first things he got rid of when he’d gone on the run, after the fall of Hydra.  It held so many bad memories.  And yet, there were still a few times, often when he was up late at night with nothing else to occupy his mind, he’d picture, smaller, dainty fingers pulling at the buttons on that uniform.  Those memories were even harder to bare.  Although they were happy memories, they would quickly lead down a dark path.

Bucky shakes those thoughts from his mind, coming back to the present.  He glances over to his friend to see if he’s ready to go.  Steve wears a black tactical jacket similar to his, however he has both sleeves intact.  When the two are geared up and ready to go, they move out to the main hanger to meet Sam at the jet.

“Finally!” the winged Avenger grumbles.  “Any longer and I would have turned old and grey like the two of you.”

The boys share a look of amusement before Steve moves to the cockpit to get the jet started up.  The flight is filled with mild banter, the two former avengers picking up on Bucky’s slight hesitation toward the mission, so they try their best to keep him distracted.  When they land, the three of them grab their gear before departing the jet.

Bucky looks up at the building with a small frown.

“Does this place look familiar?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Bucky turns his head to look at him.  “No…” he responds honestly.

“Maybe something will click once we’re inside,” Steve comments, heading for the main door.

The three walk around with weapons drawn, bodies tense and alert, despite the evidence that it seems like no one has been here in years.  “Based on the technology we’ve come across, I’d guess this place was built within the last 20 years or so,” Bucky states.

“Is there a chance you were never stationed here?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” he responds. “Could have been built after I was moved back to the U.S.”

The hallway ends with a set of double doors.  Steve pushes them open while Sam and Bucky stand on either side, guns at the ready. A low hum fills the entire room and the three are hit with a blast of cold air.  Bucky is the first to make a move.  Crossing the threshold sets off the sensor that turns on the lights.  The three wince at the change in brightness.

They all tense when the last light to flicker on is the soft blue glow of the containment unit in the center of the room.  They train their guns on the unit, as if at any moment, something or someone is going to pop out of it.

“Another Winter Soldier?” Sam asks, cautiously.

Bucky’s brow furrows, eyeing the unit.  “Not that I know of.”  He takes several hesitant steps closer.  Shock rips through his system when he finally sees who rests within the glass walls of the unit.  His arms go slack, the riffle nearly slipping out of his fingers.

“What is it?” Steve asks, worried about the change in his friend.

“I…  I know her,” Bucky breathes, his words barely even audible. Memories he’d been trying to repress seem to surface all at once.  Soft caresses against his skin, extended kiss, gentle smiles.  He jumps into action before his mind has even stopped reeling. He swings his riffle around and onto his back, the strap running diagonally across his chest.  He then moves to the computer, bringing it to life.

“Buck, what are you doing?” Steve asks in a rush, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky doesn’t even look away from the screen as he responds.  “I have to get her out.”

Sam eyes the containment unit warily.  “Are you sure that’s a good idea…?”

Bucky doesn’t grace him with an answer, too focused on reading the computer code to figure out how to reverse the process.

“I guess we’re gonna find out,” Steve mumbles when the machine releases a large amount of steam and the glass begins to rise.

Bucky approaches your sleeping form.  His hands shake when he reaches out for you, scared that you’re just a figment of his imagination.  His fingers brush your cheek, your skin still cold.  He releases a shaky breath, his fingers moving up to run through your hair. After he’s confirmed that you’re most definitely real, he begins to unhook you from the machine.  His arms curl underneath your body, lifting you up and out of the chair.

He steps away from the machine, kneeling down on the floor.  He keeps one arm curled around your shoulders, the other releasing your legs to cup your cheek.  “Krasavitsa…” he calls to you, looking for signs of life.

The first bit of movement starts with a slight furrow of your brow.  A little later your lips draw into a frown.  Your head tilts toward him, your body automatically seeking his warmth.  He pulls you in closer.  As you mind begins to clear, you notice the tightening of his arms around you.  It makes your breaths increase and you slowly shake your head.  “Niet…” you speak, your voice cracking.   _No_.  “Ne nado bolshe, pozhaluysta,” you beg.   _No more, please._

His thumb swipes against your cheek.  “Krasavitsa, Eto ya,” he tells you.   _It’s me._

Your hand weakly grasps the front of his uniform.  Your attempts to push him away are pitiful, at best, his words not getting through to you.  Your lashes flutter before your eyes blink open.  Everything is blurry around you when you try to look around. Your gaze turns to the person holding you, his blue eyes are the first thing to come into focus.  His familiar blue eyes.

“Krasavchik?” you ask in confusion.  You know it can’t be true.  Not after what they did to him.

However, instead of disappearing before your very eyes, you feel his warm breath fanning across your face.  “Da.  Ya zdes’.”   _Yeah. I’m here._

Your lips part in a shaky gasp.  Your fingers release his jacket, brushing against his neck as they move up to flatten against his jaw.  His stubble tickles your palm and it makes you smile.  He nuzzles his face into your hand, his eyes falling shut.  He looks so relieved to have found you.  “Ti menya pomnish,” you whisper.   _You remember me_.

His eyes open once more, looking at you sadly as the memory of your last moments together overwhelms him.  He can’t believe what he almost did to you.  “Mne zha-.”   _I’m sor-_

Before he can finish, you feel a burst of energy run through your system that allows you to sit up enough until his mouth is connected to yours.  He responds eagerly, his hand curling into the hair at the base of your neck.  Your touch is so familiar to him and the longer he has you in his arms, the more it feels like the last several years never happened.  Like the two of you were never separated.

An awkward cough and the sound of a throat clearing pulls the both of you out of your trance.  You pull out of the kiss, looking over and just notice the other two men in the room. They both eye you warily and you regard them with the same look.

“Bucky, you mind filling us in?” the blonde one asks in English. You note from his accent that he’s American.

Your brows furrow in confusion.  “Who the hell is Bucky?”

A soft chuckle rumbles out of the man holding you, causing your gaze to lift back to his.  “I am.”

You raise an eyebrow.  “Your name is  _Bucky_?” Never would you have guessed that  _that_  was his name.  It was so disarming, almost anti-climactic.  The man Hydra had to  _force_  to do their bidding for years, one of the deadliest men in the world, could practically kill you with a look, was named  _Bucky_?

A slow grin stretches across his lips and you are momentarily distracted from your thoughts.  “You don’t have to look so surprised.  My full name is James Buchanan Barnes.  Bucky is a nickname, Krasavitsa.”

That made a little more sense.  You just couldn’t really picture the man you knew letting anyone get away with calling him  _Bucky_.

“So… are you ever gonna introduce us to your girlfriend?” the dark skinned one cuts in.

The two of you look up at him.  “Guys, this is-”

“Y/N Karpov.  And who are you?” you ask, eyeing the two Americans.  As soon as they hear your last name they tense up.  Their unease feeds your own as you curl into Bucky’s chest.  You quickly realize your mistake.  “You are not aligned with my brother…” you observe.

“No,” the blonde confirms.  “We aren’t.”

Glancing around, you notice for the first time how empty the room is.  There were no scientists, no soldiers, not even bodies on the ground.  You glance back up at Bucky.  “Where  _is_  my brother?” you ask in distress.

“Dead,” Bucky responds without remorse.

You don’t know if relief can be used to describe how you feel, but knowing that he can no longer hurt you… it was certainly a plus.

“You don’t look very heartbroken by that news,” the blonde observes.

You glare at him, offended by the look he’s giving you. “That’s because Vasily was a horrible man who did terrible things to good people.  This world is better off without him.”

“Is he the one that put you in there?” the other one asks.

“Yes.”

The two seem to share a look, their muscles slowly relax.

“How long was I asleep?” you ask Bucky.

His gaze washes over you, almost hesitant to answer.  “I don’t really know.  I have no memory of what happened to you after…” his voice drifts off, but you know what he means.

“I didn’t see you again.  They put me in cryostasis soon after you left.”

Bucky looks pained to have to tell you, but he knows he can’t keep it from you.  “That night… happened more than 20 years ago.”

The breath seems to leave your lungs in one solid rush. 20 years!  How was that possible when it only felt like a few hours? Maybe a couple days… But  _years_?!  You look around again, trying to make sense of all this.  That’s when you realize you also don’t recognize this room. “Are we still in Siberia?”

Bucky frowns, “No.  We’re at a different Hydra base.  You don’t remember being moved here?”

You wince slightly as a headache begins to form. You rub your forehead slowly, trying to soothe the ache.  “No… I don’t think so…”

“Could be a side effect from having just woken up,” Bucky tells you, remembering how muddled his head used to get and that was before they ran him through the machine.  He turns to his friends.  “She’s going to need a doctor.  They must have done something to her that would allow her to survive the cryostasis process.  Who knows what else they’ve done.”

The blonde looks a little hesitant as he shifts from foot to foot.  “Bucky…”

“Steve, please.  I need you to trust me on this one.”  It’s strange seeing such vulnerability on your Krasavchik’s face.

Steve looks you over for a moment, before looking to the other man.  That man nods.  Steve looks back at you and Bucky, releasing a soft sigh.  “Come on.  Let’s get her to the jet.”

Bucky smiles at him gratefully before his arms are wrapping around you once more.  He stands up, lifting you as if you are weightless.  Your arms wrap around his neck, loosely.  “You do not have to carry me, Krasavchik,” you protest.

He gives you a small smile.  “Your legs will be weak.  I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You are unused to his kindness being expressed in front of others and you begin to wonder what happened while you were asleep that could have brought this change in him.  You figure you should probably wait until the two of you are alone before you ask.

Steve takes the lead, Bucky following after and the other man taking up the rear.  Looking over Bucky’s shoulder, you stare openly at the man, trying to figure out what the device is that he carries on his back.

He smiles at you kindly, revealing a set of white teeth.  “I’m Sam, by the way.  Sam Wilson. And the bossy one up front is Steve Rogers.”

That puts you on high alert, the name setting off so many alarms in your brain.  Your head swings around to look at the blonde in shock. There’s no way that could actually be…

“Yes, Krasavitsa,” Bucky tells you, his voice low.  “That’s the real Steve Rogers.”

You look at him with wide, confused eyes.  “On zhiv?!  Kak?”   _He’s alive?! How?_

“Same way you and I are.”

You had heard the stories about how Captain America crashed the plane into the arctic.  You realize the ice must have preserved his body.  “You brought Captain America to a Hydra base? How are the three of you not dead?” you ask in a hushed tone.

Steve glances at you over his shoulder, able to still hear you with his enhanced abilities.  “The base has been abandoned for years.”

“Steve…” Bucky chastises with a frown feeling your body stiffen in his arms.

Your mind goes reeling. The building had been abandoned.  For how long?  If no one was here, then that meant… You’d been  _left behind._   What would have happened if Bucky hadn’t come?  And if your brother was dead, did anyone even know you were here?  How long would you have stayed in that containment unit? Forever asleep while the rest of the world kept turning.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the three of you step outside, and the bright sunshine makes you wince.  You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the light, noticing the large black jet positioned a short distance away.  The back ramp drops as you approach.  Once inside, Bucky sets you down in a chair.

“How are you feeling?” he asks you gently.

You look up at him, rubbing your hand over your arms.  “A little cold,” you admit without the warmth of his body around you, you could feel the chill creeping back into your bones.

He grabs a fleece blanket from one of the storage units in the jet and throws it over your shoulders. He tucks it carefully over your front, making sure it’s nice and bundled.  “Better?”

You smile, “Yes. Thank you, Krasavchik.”

He takes the seat next to yours as Steve and Sam climb into their seats up front and prepare for takeoff. Once the jet is in the air, you can feel fatigue beginning to claim your body.  Your eyes droop and you raise a hand to your lips to cover up a yawn.

Bucky chuckles quietly in amusement.  “Tired?”

You nod your head, your blinks becoming longer.  “I slept for twenty years… How can I still feel so exhausted?”

“It’s normal.  You should rest, the flight will be a couple hours.”

Taking his invitation, you lean your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.  It doesn’t take very long for you to fall asleep.

Steve glances back at the two of you, finding you curled up against Bucky’s side as he watches over you. “Do you think we can trust her?” Steve asks in a voice low enough, only Sam will hear.

Sam glances back as well before sighing softly and shaking his head.  “I don’t really know.  But I think we should wait to hear the full story before we start jumping to conclusions.”

Steve shifts in his seat, unable to shake the foreboding feeling inside his gut.  “Something just doesn’t feel right about all this.”

The two fall into a tense silence, their minds racing over the various ways this can play out.

* * *

“We’re twenty minutes out.” Steve’s voice wakes you from your slumber.

Your eyes blink open slowly as you lift yourself off Bucky’s shoulder.  You rub tiredly at your eyes, releasing another yawn.

“Feeling better?” Bucky asks you gently.

You nod, looking up at him with a small smile.

The corners of his lips tilt up as he smiles in return.  “Can I show you something?”

You tilt your head curiously, “Yes, of course.”

He stands and reaches his hands out to help you onto your feet.  He guides you toward the front of the jet, coming to stand between the two pilots seats where Steve and Sam sit.  He points out the window and your gaze soon follows after.

“Oh wow…” you breathe in awe of the sight before you.  “I’ve never seen so much green in my whole life!”  The jet is flying just above the tree line of a massive jungle.  Greenery stretches out for miles in every direction, farther than you can even see.  “It’s beautiful.”

Bucky watches the wonder on your face.  “I thought you might like it.”

Your gaze shifts to his. “Where are we?”

“Wakanda.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise.  “The Wakandans have opened their boarders?” you ask in disbelief.  You were knowledgeable of the African nation, only because you knew how desperately your brother had wanted to get inside.  They had shut the outside world out long ago to protect their precious resource.  You can’t imagine that having changed over the last twenty years.

“Not exactly,” Bucky tells you.

“We’re friends with the King,” Sam explains.

You stare at him, the news shocking you even more.  “You  _know_  the king of Wakanda?”

Bucky’s laughter draws your gaze back to him.  “It’s a long story, Krasavitsa.  One I will tell you at a later time.”

“Prepare for landing,” Steve tells you both.

In the distance, you notice a large building mixed in with the foliage of the jungle.  Bucky guides you back to your seat and takes his.  The landing is smooth and uneventful.  Just a few short minutes after you’ve departed the jet, you find yourself sitting on an examination table in the medical wing.

Bucky stands with you as the doctor checks your vitals.  It’s difficult to pay attention with all the modern technology surrounding you.  A lot has certainly changed over the last 20 years.

“You said they gave you a serum?” the doctor asks you for confirmation.

You pull your eyes away from the full body scanner showing your central nervous system to look at him. “Yes.  At least, I’m pretty sure.  A lot of my memory from right before they put me under is still a little blurry,” you admit.

“Do you see something in her blood sample?” Bucky asks, gesturing to the microscope the doctor had just been looking through.

The doctor nods.  “It appears the serum has affected your cell membrane, Ms. Karpov.”

You wince at the name, “Please, just Y/N is fine.”

He bows his head respectfully, “Certainly, Miss Y/N.”

“Affected her cell membrane?” Bucky repeats in question.

The doctor nods, “Yes. You see, one of the problems faced with cryogenesis is the expansion of water.  Because the body is made of 60% water, as the molecules expand, it would normally cause the membrane to burst.  And if that happens to every cell in your body, it would kill you instantly. The serum seems to have strengthened your cell membranes to prevent them from bursting.”

You take a moment to process his words.  “Are the affects permanent?”

“Yes, I would assume so.”

“Are there other side effects of this?” Bucky asks.

“I could not know for certain without more tests, but there is a chance she could be enhanced.  Like you and Captain Rogers.”

You look up at Bucky to find him already looking back.  The crease between his brows is back and you know he’s worried about you.

“But other than that, I seem to be okay?” you question.

He nods, glancing over your vitals once more, “Yes, exceptionally so.  No hint of pneumonia or hypothermia.  You are a clean bill of health.”

“Alright.  Thank you, doctor.”  You shift closer to the edge of the table as you look back to Bucky.  “Can we go now?” you ask.

He looks like he wants to ask the doctor more, but he concedes with a nod.  “Sure.  Let me take you to your room.”

He helps you off the table and keeps a hand on your lower back as you both walk through the compound to the sleeping quarters.  Everyone you come across bows their head in respect as you walk passed.  It makes you feel strange, you’d never been treated that way.  Because of your family relations, you’d been tolerated at best, while with Hydra.  But never respected.

“Is there a way to make them stop?” you ask Bucky with a hushed whisper.

He laughs quietly.  “If there is, I haven’t figured it out yet.”

You both soon come to a stop in front of a door.  Bucky grips the handle and pushes it open.  “This is your room.  It should be supplied with anything you might need.  My room is just down the hall if you need anything else,” he points toward his door.

You follow his finger with your eyes, making a mental note of which door he’s pointing at.  When your gaze lifts back to his, he’s already looking back.  You notice his gaze dip down, washing over your lips.  Just when you think he’s going to lean in, instead he steps back.

“Well, I’ll let you get settled,” he mutters quietly.

You hide your disappointment and nod, stepping through your open doorway.  Bucky continues down the hall as your door falls shut.  With nothing to occupy your mind now, your thoughts begin to race.  So many things were happening all at once, you weren’t sure if your brain could take much more.  Hoping to distract yourself, you go to the closet to grab some clothes before moving to the bathroom to shower.

The various knobs and dials take some figuring out before you’ve got the water running at an acceptable temperature.  The warmth from the water feels lovely against you skin, and the scented shampoo and conditioner help to keep you relaxed.

Unfortunately, you can’t stay in the shower forever and soon you are stepping out onto the plush bath mat. After drying off, you slip into a loose t-shirt and cotton shorts.  As you brush out the knots in your hair, you move out to the bedroom.  You sit on the bed and bite your lip while looking around.

The silence seems to fill the room like a dark cloud.  It presses down on you from all sides, making it difficult to breathe.  Unable to take it, you push yourself off the bed and go straight for the door.  You don’t give yourself enough time to doubt your actions, before you’re already knocking on Bucky’s door.

It doesn’t take him long to answer.  And judging by his wet hair and change of clothes, he must have recently showered, too.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks in concern.

“I… I really don’t want to be alone right now…  If you don’t mind?”

He steps back, opening the door even more, “Sure, come on in.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief as you step through.  You glance quickly around his room.  It’s clean, and mostly plain.  His jacket and cargo pants are folded into a neat pile on his dresser, a hand gun and several knives resting in line with them.  Sam had offered to take his rifle back to the weapons vault when you all stepped off the jet.

Finishing your sweep, you turn to face him, but can’t seem to meet his gaze.  “I’m sorry,” you speak softly, feeling the need to explain yourself. “It’s just… the silence was getting to me and my mind won’t stop racing and-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off gently.  “It’s alright.  I’ve been through this before, too.  You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

The corner of your mouth tilts into a half smile.  “Thank you, Krasavchik.  For finding me.  For bringing me here…  For everything.”

His mouth tilts up to match yours, his eyes going soft.  He reaches his hand out until his warm palm is holding your cheek.  “I’m so glad we found you,” he whispers.

You hand cups the back of his as you nuzzle your face further into his palm.  “I like seeing you smile,” you comment.

His lips stretch up even further.  “I like being able to smile.”

You cherish the small glimpse you get of his white teeth.  Never could you have imagined seeing his smile, not with how things were back when you were last together.  “What happened to you?” You ask, unable to take not knowing any longer. “To my brother?  To the  _world_?”

His smile falls away and you almost regret asking him.  He gestures with his head toward the bed, knowing that this might become a long conversation and wanting you to be comfortable.  After the two of you have settled on the mattress, he speaks.  He tells you that shortly after what happened 20 years ago, he was transferred to America to work for a man named Alexander Pierce.  He explains what happened during the fall of HYDRA, and how after he was on his own, he slowly began regaining his memories.  He describes what happened to your brother and how it corresponds with the event leading to his residency in Wakanda.

“So, just to be clear… this Zemo man flies to Russia to confront my brother.  And when he doesn’t get what he wants, he flies to Vienna to bomb a government meeting and blame you for it, so he could get to you in Germany, only to fly back to Russia to get to the compound?”

Bucky nods, “Mostly, except your brother was living in America.”

You stare at him in shock, needing a moment to process this revelation even more than the rest of it. When you do, you scoff out a dry laugh, shaking your head slowly.  “So, he threw me in a containment unit, then fled to America.  That’s… that’s just perfect.”

“Krasavitsa, if I had known-”

“Don’t.”  You cut him off.  Realizing you were coming off as angry, you soften your gaze.  Yes, you were upset, but not at him.  “This wasn’t your fault, so don’t blame yourself for it.”

“But it  _is_  my fault…” he insists, the guilt dripping from his voice.  “ _I_  snuck into your room that night.   _I_  fell asleep, even when you told me to leave.  I almost…  I had the gun and I-”

You push yourself closer to him, your hands reaching out for him.  “ _I_ let you stay, even though I knew I shouldn’t have.   _We both_  fell asleep together.  And don’t you  _dare_  even blame yourself for something you had no control over.  You had tried to resist him, Krasavchik.  He had to run the machine  _twice_  to get you to comply.”  The tears well in your eyes, because the memory of what happened is still so fresh.  Your hand shakes as you reach up to cup his jaw line.  “Do you remember the last thing I said to you?” you ask looking straight into his eyes.

He seems to wince as if the memory is just as fresh.  “Ya proshchayu tebya.”  He repeats.  _I forgive you_.  

“Yes,” you whisper, rubbing you thumb along his stubbled cheek.  “But in actuality, there was nothing to forgive.  I knew you didn’t want to do it.  You can’t blame yourself for something he  _made_  you do.”

His hands make their way around you, tugging your body onto his lap.  He holds you close, burying his face into your neck.  “I missed you,” he whispers, breath sending ripples across your skin.

You comb your fingers soothingly through his hair.  “I would say I missed you too, but it still feels like it’s only been a few days since we’ve seen each other.”

He breathes out a small laugh, his arms tightening even more.  “I thought they had killed you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your cheek against his hair.  “He almost did.”  You close your eyes, thinking about your last moments with your brother.  “I don’t know why he didn’t.  I guess he thought leaving me forever in cryostasis was a better punishment than death.”

The two of you continue to hold each other for several minutes.  Undisturbed by the silence, because now you have each other.  You’re no longer alone.  A knock on the door is the only reason you pull back.  The two of you look over, Bucky’s arms falling away so you can slide off his lap.

“Come in,” he calls out.

The door opens to reveal a finely dressed servant.  “The King would like to know if he should expect your presence at dinner.”

Bucky glances at the clock, not even realizing the time was passed 6.  “Can we have food brought here?  We still have more to discuss.  Send T’challa my apologies.”

“As you wish, Mr. Barnes,” the man bows his head respectfully before closing the door.

You observe Bucky with a tilted smirk.  “You would make a good diplomat.”

He scoffs and shakes his head.  “I really wouldn’t,” he pauses.  “I have no patience for idiots.”

His response makes you laugh.  The food is brought to his door soon after.  The two of you eat and continue your conversations.  You take the time to get to know one another, something which had never been allowed previously.

There are a lot of differences between the man you had known and the one that lies before you now. You can see the guilt of his actions weighs heavily upon his shoulders.  But he smiles more easily, and his eyes are so gentle.  You can feel yourself falling even more in love with him.

You talk long after your plates have been cleaned off.  Long after the sun has gone down.  Your voice becomes sore from talking so much, and still you keep talking.  It’s only when each of your sentences is punctuated with a yawn, that Bucky insists you both should go to bed.

“I don’t want to leave you,” you mumble tiredly.

He sends you another soft smile.  “Then don’t.” He pulls the comforter back, waiting for you to slip under the sheets before he follows.  His arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back against his chest.  You close your eyes, sighing in content.  You’re just about to drift off when you feel his lips brush against your jaw.  “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he whispers directly into your ear.   _I love you_.

The words have barely even registered before your mind goes blank and your eyes snap open of their own accord.  You push yourself up, Bucky’s arms loosening from around you.  Your movements are slow, yet determined as you move to the edge of the bed and stand up.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks in confusion, sitting up.

You don’t respond, instead moving toward his dresser.

“Y/N?” he tries again, wondering why you are acting so strange.

“Ya gotov otvechat’,” your voice rings clear throughout the room.

His blood goes cold, recognizing the phrase instantly.  He has seconds to react before you’re turning to face him, his handgun firmly placed in your palm.

 _Ready to comply_.


	4. Otvechat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Отвечать : Otvechat : Comply

The gun goes off with a resounding bang.  Bucky kicks the blanket off his legs and up into the air, using it to inhibit your view of him as he rolls off the bed.  He lands in a crouch, darting forward and twisting out of the way in time for another shot.  As soon as he reaches you, he knocks the gun out of your hand, sending it flying across the room.

Grabbing your wrist, he swings your arm around, pinning it behind your back and forcing you face down onto his dresser.  “Y/N, you have to fight it!”

You release an inhuman growl, bucking your hips wildly in an effort to throw him off.  When that doesn’t work, you kick your leg out, jamming the heel of your foot into his knee.  He grunts in pain, shifting his weight off his injured leg.  It’s enough of a shift to enable you to twist out of his hold. Your free hand swipes over his dresser, grabbing one of his knives.

In one fluid movement, you’re unsheathing the knife and lunging at him. He jerks back, moving just slow enough that the edge of the blade nicks his cheek.  His hand comes up to push your arm away as he steps back.  With a flick of your wrist, the knife is in the air, and you’re able to grab it with your other hand.  You try to lunge again.

He jumps back and takes several paces to get out of your reach.  “Y/N, please!” he urges, a droplet of blood sliding down from the fresh cut.  “I don’t want to fight you,” his brows draw together as he looks at you sadly.

You stare back, unaffected by his emotions.  “Tem legche dlya menya.”  _Then you will make it easy for me_.

You dart forward, blade at the ready.  Bucky blocks your series of attacks, his actions completely defensive as he does nothing to actually stop you.  His back hits the door to his bedroom and his head ducks just in time for the knife in your hand to impale the wood behind him.

He pulls open the door, stepping out into the hall.  You stalk after him.  He backs down the hallway, keeping his eyes on you.

“Y/N, you need to stop.  I know you don’t want to do this.”  He keeps trying to get through to you. Even though, deep down, he knows it’s useless.

“It’s does not matter what I want.  You are my mission.”

He quickly turns around and runs down the hall.  You give chase, having no problem in keeping up with his speed. Once you’re close enough, you jump toward the wall, your feet taking a few steps up it, before you push off in his direction.  You jump onto his back, your sideways momentum, pushing the both of you into a door. Your combined weight and the force of your fall, causes the hinges to break and the door to come crashing down.

The impact of your landing forces you to bounce off Bucky’s back. You roll yourself into a low crouch, watching as he pushes himself onto all fours, a grimace of pain on his face. “Please, Y/N.  Please don’t make me hurt you,” he begs, pushing back onto his haunches.

You push yourself up until you are standing, watching as he rises as well. “You will have to try first.”

You take a quick glance around the room, noting you’re in a common area. There isn’t much of use to you, only couches and tables.  Without a weapon, you are left with resorting to your martial arts training.  Your smaller form makes you more flexible and agile, when compared to Bucky’s brute strength.  And you know you can use his unwillingness to fight to your advantage.

You hear footsteps coming from down the hall, moments before Steve and Sam are entering the room.

“Stay back,” Bucky urges, holding his hand out.  “She’s been triggered.”

The two stare at you in shock.  “Like Winter Soldier triggered?” Sam asks.

“Your friends cannot help you,” you state, your gaze trained on your target.

You dart forward, going for Bucky once more.  Before you can get to him, Steve grabs your arm and yanks you back. You twist your arm around to break out of his hold, ducking down and punching his stomach with your free hand. He doubles over, in pain.  You lift your elbow up, with the intent of slamming it into his back, when Sam wraps his arms around you from behind, he pulls you away from Steve.  Pinning down one arm, he tries to subdue your other one.

“Guys, stop.  Don’t hurt her!” Bucky pleads.

You jerk your head back, slamming into Sam’s face.  He yelps in pain, releasing you to grab his nose as blood begins to gush out.  “Shit! And what if she hurts us?!”

Having recovered, Steve comes at you.  Unlike Bucky, he doesn’t hold back his attacks, putting you on the defensive, until your cornered.  He body slams you into the wall, grabbing you by your hair.  “Sorry about this,” he mutters darkly before he slams your head into the wall.

You feel a burst of pain, all sorts of colors splashing over your vision, before everything goes dark.

* * *

When you wake up, everything hurts.  You release a pained moan, only to wince, when the sound seems to make the pounding in your head even worse.  Your body seems to be in an awkward position.  Opening your eyes, you realize you’re sitting in a chair and hunched over a table.  You push yourself up, into an upright position, only to then realize, you’ve got handcuffs chaining your wrists to the table.  You stare at them for a long moment, the pain clouding your mind from understanding the situation.  You try yanking at the chain, wincing when the metal bites into your wrists.

“It’s no use.”  You jump at the sound of the voice, only now realizing Steve is in the room with you. “Those cuffs are made from vibranium.”

Looking around, you realize the both of you are in a small room.  An investigation room.  “What is the meaning of this?”  Your voice cracks, and your throat feels dry.  “Where’s Bucky?”

Steve glares down at you, standing on the other side of the table. “Why?  So you can try to kill him again?”

“What?” you ask in confusion, your brows drawing together.  “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, so now you’ve forgotten that, too?  How convenient,” he mutters sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why are you acting like this?”  Sure, he hadn’t been very friendly toward you before, but he wasn’t overtly hostile.

“Don’t act so innocent,” he scoffs.  “You’re a Hydra agent.  There’s nothing innocent about you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” you protest.

“Bull shit!” he slams his palms into the table, making you jump in your seat. “Tell me the truth, and  _maybe_  I won’t consider killing you.”

Your breaths come out in shaky pants, you’d never imagined yourself being afraid of Captain America.  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” you whisper, still confused about what’s going on.

“Let’s start with why you’re really here.  Did you willingly go into cryostasis, so you could come after Bucky when he was at his most vulnerable?”

“What?!” you ask incredulously.  “Of course not!  I loved him!”

“Did you really?  Because the last time I checked, people don’t go around attacking their loved ones.”

The breath seems to leave your lungs all at once.  Bucky was attacked?  How?  When? With the way Steve was looking at you, it wasn’t hard to figure out.  “You think  _I_  hurt him?” you ask in disbelief. “No, I wouldn’t do that!”

“I’m done with your lies!” he screams.  His gaze narrows and he shakes his head.  “You’re just as bad as your brother.”

Now  _that_  pisses you off.  You bare your teeth, growling angrily, “Do  _not_  compare me to that bastard!”  Your hands clench into tight fists.  “Just because we were related by blood, does not make him my family.  I didn’t get to choose how I was born.  I didn’t want  _any_  of that.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks mockingly.  “Then why didn’t you just leave?”

“Do you think I didn’t try?!”  Your outburst is loud and furious as you lean forward as much as your restraints would allow. You stare at his cold gaze, seeing nothing but resentment reflecting back at you.  After a few panting breaths, you sit back in your seat.  You observe the former Captain, wondering how much you should tell him.  Clearly he’d already made up his mind about you.  You don’t really know what you did to set him off, but it must have been something bad.  You release a slow breath, trying to calm yourself.  Showing your hostility wasn’t going to get you anywhere.

You drop your gaze to your hands, releasing your fists, to thread your fingers together.  “In 1988, I met a man in Stalingrad who said he was willing to help me escape my brother.”  You begin, your hands clenching together.  You hated thinking about this memory.  “He took me to his home, hid me.  His wife fed me and gave me a change of clothes.  It was the first form of kindness I had ever been given…”  You watch as your hands begin to shake.  “When Vasily came…” your voice breaks off, tears welling in your eyes as the memory takes over.

“He made them shoot each other.  Right in front of me… He wouldn’t let me look away.  Kept telling me that I had to watch the consequence of my actions. That all of this was my fault, even if I hadn’t pulled the trigger.  And then…” you release a choked sob, a few tears spilling out.  “He took their child,” your voice cracks under the pressure of your emotions.  “I don’t know where.  He forbade me from knowing.  Probably to a whorehouse…”  You look up at him, the tears now falling freely.  “She was only 4 years old!”

The Captain’s gaze washes over you, his face less hostile, but still more neutral than anything else. If he’s feeling sympathy for you, he doesn’t show it.  “So after that, you stopped trying?”

“Don’t you understand?!” you breathe.  “The only way you leave Hydra is in a body bag!  There is no love lost for those who do not agree with Hydra’s ideals.  You either do as you are told, or you are killed. The only reason I was given a second chance was  _because_  Vasily was my brother,” you try to explain.  “After that, I tried to be good.  To follow orders and keep my head down.  But when he assigned me to Bucky…  It was the last straw.”

“What happened with Bucky?” Steve asks.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“I want to hear your side.”

“There is no other side. I fell in love with him, and Vasily couldn’t have that, so he punished me for it.  He put me in cryostasis, and then he left.”

“See,” Steve starts with another shake of his head.  “You claim to be in love with him, and yet, you just tried to kill him.”

“No,” you deny.  “I would never hurt Bucky!”

“Then what do you call this?”  He pushes his tablet, which had been sitting on his side of the table, toward you.

Looking down, you find a video playing.  It’s footage taken from the camera observing the common area.  You see yourself… savagely trying to go for Bucky while Steve and Sam try to hold you back.  You watch the video play out through horrified eyes.  Your breathing becomes erratic.  “No…” you whisper.  “I would never… I couldn’t…” you release a choked sob.

Steve pulls the tablet back. “Well, you did.”

You cry out in pain when you feel a sharp throb in your forehead.  Leaning forward, you place your head in your hands as memories that had once been taken from you begin to surface.  You remember being strapped down to a table, your screams filling the room as they injected you with all sorts of things.  You could hear your brother’s voice.

“Oh God!” you gasp, as you begin to realize what he’s done.

“What?” Steve asks urgently.

“I… I remember.”  You lift your head from your palms, looking up at the Captain.  “I remember what he did to me.”

Steve pulls his chair out and takes a seat.  He gives you an expectant look, waiting for you to continue.

“Vasily…” your voice cracks as tears well in your eyes once more.  “He turned me into his contingency plan.”

“What did he do?” Steve asks.

You feel your tears begin to fall.  “After Bucky was returned back to the Soldat state, my brother had me moved to the new facility.  He was afraid that my screams would set Bucky off again.  It was there that they strapped me down to inject me with their serums and place the triggers in my head.”

“How did Bucky know your trigger words?”

The tears fall more heavily now, and it becomes difficult to talk around the lump in your throat.  “Because my brother made it the one thing that would have meant he’d lost the Soldat.”

Steve looks confused, not quite understanding your point.

“My trigger words are  _ya _tebya_  lyublyu_.  It means I love you,” your voice falls away toward the end, unable to believe that this is what your life has become.

A look of realization dawns his face.  “So if Bucky ever…”

You release another sob. “It’s my punishment.  Because I fell in love with him, and taught him how to love someone in return… I ruined him for my brother’s purposes.  If he was ever able to say it… I was supposed to kill him, because he would have been useless to Hydra.”

Steve observes you for a long moment.  “Finding the facility you were held in was no accident,” he realizes.

You shake your head. “Contingency plan, remember?  It’s been too long since the Soldat has checked in. They knew he would find me.  They knew he’d let his guard down; that I could get close.”  You shake your head, unable to stop your tears.  “You never should have let me out.  You never should have left me alone with him.  I’ll only hurt him.  I-”

The door to the room bursts open, slamming into the wall with a crack.  An incredibly pissed off Bucky stands in the doorway.  He walks into the room, his gaze locked on you as he approaches the table.  “Steve, keys,” he demands, holding his open palm out.

Steve hesitates, “Buck…”

“Now.”  Bucky insists, never removing his gaze from you.

Steve releases a soft sigh, pulling the small key out of his pocket and handing it over.  Bucky steps closer, using the key to unlock your hand cuffs.  However, as soon as you’re free, you push away from him, standing up on the other side of the table and step back.

“Bucky… you need to stay away from me,” you mutter, watching in fear as he moves closer.  You’re not scared of him, only of what you might do to him.

He stalks closer and you continue to move back until your back hits the wall.

“Stop.” You urge, the tears still falling from your eyes.  “I don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper.

“You won’t,” he responds moments before his lips are on yours.  His hand cradles the back of your head while his body molds yours into the wall. He doesn’t seem to mind that your lips are wet with your tears.  He kisses you with determination and a yearning that has built deep inside of him.

Your hands clutch desperately at his shirt, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to pull back, continuing to lock your body in his hold, until he’s satisfied enough to pull away.  He rests his forehead to yours, your panting breaths intermixing.  Opening your eyes, your gaze zeros in on the bandage on his cheek.

There’s a hitch in your breath as guilt hits you like a tidal wave.  “I’m so sorry!” you whisper.

He shushes you quietly, “There’s nothing to forgive,” his voice is deep and soothing, his thumb swiping over your cheek in an effort to dry your tears.  His efforts are in vain when you only seem to burst into another round. “Oh, Y/N,” his gaze softens, arms wrapping around you as you bury your face into his shirt.

You didn’t deserve his kindness.  Not after what you’d just done.  However, you couldn’t help but seek out his warmth and comfort.  A small part of you was scared that your need to be close to him was derived from the mind control your brother put in you, rather than the love you felt for him.  But at this point, you were too broken to care.

“Come on,” Bucky calls your attention.  “Let’s get you out of here.”

He ushers you out of the room, and you only now realize Steve has left already.  Bucky keeps your body tucked into his side as he escorts you back to the sleeping quarters.  You’re about to pull away from him to go into your room, when his arm tightens around you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

You look up at him in confusion.  “My room?” He shakes his head and continues to pull you down the hall.  When you realize where he’s going, you try to stop him.  “Bucky, no.  We shouldn’t-”

“Why not?” he asks, opening his bedroom door and ushering you inside.

As he closes the door behind him, the split in the wood catches your attention.  The knife has been removed, but the mark is still there. “What if I hurt you again?” you whisper, unable to look away.

He shifts, so his face is blocking the mark from your view.  “You are not a threat to me as long as I don’t set off your trigger.”

You thought your tears might have finally run dry, but you were wrong.  You feel your eyes beginning to sting once more.  “You don’t deserve this,” you mutter with a shake of your head. “You deserve someone better. Someone who isn’t programmed to kill you.  Someone who you can actually say-”

His hands come up to cradle your cheeks, one providing a soft warmth, the other a soothing cool against your tear stained cheeks.  “I don’t want someone else, Krasavitsa.”  He looks deeply into your eyes, trying to make sure he gets his point across. “There are more ways to express my feelings for you than with words.”

“Bucky…”  You want to.  God, do you want to.  But you’re scared there might be something else your brother has programmed inside you. Something besides the words.

Keeping your face cradled between his palms, his lips come down to meet yours in a soft caress. “Ya khochu tebya.”  _I want you._

You can feel your will to resist him slipping away.  “Krasavchik,” you whimper, hands clutching his shirt once more.

His kiss becomes more firm, but he maintains the gentle and tender feel of it.  His movements are slow, but instead of coming off as teasing, they are simply filled with all the emotions he can’t say aloud.

Your hands slip beneath his shirt, feeling the familiar sensation of his skin beneath your palms. His hands leave your face to help you in removing his shirt.  As the fabric comes up to his neck, he pulls out of the kiss to pull it the rest of the way off.  Your eyes blink open, taking in the plains of tanned skin before you.  You notice some light bruising on his side and realize it’s from when you both crashed into the door.  Your fingers hesitantly graze over the pattern of colored skin.

He grabs your wrist in a gentle hold.  “It’s really not that bad,” he assures you.

You lift your gaze back up to his.  “Mne zhal’.”   _I’m sorry_.  

His lip curls up into a small smile.  “It’s not your fault.”

His words don’t help to ease the guilt.  “But I still caused this.”

He places his hands on the back of your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist.  “You sound like me,” he chuckles, walking over to the bed and setting you down.  “I don’t blame you.”

“How can you not?” you ask incredulously

“Because I-”  He cuts himself off, and you know immediately what he was about to say.  You give him a pained look and it makes him wince.  “You know how I feel about you, Krasavitsa. Even if I can’t say it.”  He lowers his body down, caging you in against the mattress.  “You own me,” he whispers intimately.

The familiar phrase makes your breath hitch.  That’s what you had told him on your last night together.  You get lost in his sky-blue gaze, feeling a sense of warmth building in your chest.  The longer you hold his gaze, the more the warmth grows and spreads out, until it’s filling your entire being.  “You own me, too,” you whisper back.

His lips claim yours once more, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your hands run up his back, feeling the strength of his muscles as he keeps his body above yours without crushing you.  He shifts his weight onto his metal arm, allowing his right hand to slip beneath your shirt and glide slowly up your stomach.  He takes the time to appreciate your smooth skin beneath his fingertips, just as you had on him.

When he moves to pull back, your lips chase after him, not wanting the kiss to end.  His breath fans across your lips as he chuckles.  “Still so greedy, Krasavitsa.”

“I need you,” you moan, shifting restlessly beneath him.

Heeding your prayers, he removes your shirt.  You lift your hips off the bed, allowing him to remove your shorts and underwear as well.  His eyes wash over your naked form.  “You are more beautiful than I remembered, Krasavitsa,” he breathes.  His head dips down, going straight for that spot on your hip that makes your body shake.

“Krasavchik!” you cry out, arching your body into his eager mouth as he nips and sucks on the spot that drives you wild.

He groans loudly from the back of his throat.  “I missed those sounds you make,” he mumbles against your skin.

Your knees squeeze at his hips, the throbbing between your thighs becoming nearly unbearable.  Your mind may not have known that twenty years had passed since he last touched you, but your body sure as hell seemed to know.  You’ve never felt an ache so strong.  And you knew he was the only one that could provide you with the relief you needed.

“Bucky… Please,” you moan, lifting your hips in search of something to grind against.

His lips depart your skin as he looks up at you with a tilted grin.  “I will have to teach you patience,” he teases.

You groan in protest, curling your fingers into his hair, and pulling him back up the length of your body.  “Not tonight,” you urge, completely and utterly desperate for him. Your hands fall to his waistband, pushing his loose pants down his thighs.

He kicks them the rest of the way off, before lowering his hips to yours. “Are you ready for me, Krasavitsa?”

“I’ve  _been_  ready for you.”

Your words make him smirk in amusement.  His hands fall to your thighs, pushing your legs out and down toward the mattress, baring your slick folds to him.  He doesn’t even have to touch you to know how wet you are, it’s plain as day for him to see.

He sinks his hips down, brushing his full length against your folds. Your lips part in a breathy sigh as he aligns with your entrance and pushes forth.  You feel the familiar stretch as your body accepts his.  Bucky releases a soft groan, his eyes falling shut and his brow furrowing in concentration.  You feel so good around him, so warm and slick.  He has to force himself to move slowly, knowing your body will need time to adjust after twenty years on ice.

Your hand reaches up to brush some of his hair out of his face.  Your touch causes him to open his eyes.  “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice tight with restraint.

You give him a tender smile and nod.  Your fingers brush through his hair, before coming around to his jaw. He tilts his head to brush a kiss to your palm.  His metallic fingers brush ever so lightly against your forearm as he moves up to your wrist.  He pulls your hand back, threading your fingers and lowers your hands to the bed, pressed palm to palm.

Your fingers clench around the metallic plates as he begins to move, slowly pulling his hips back, then pushing them forward.  Your body seems to melt beneath him, hips meeting his gentle thrusts.  Your free hand curls around the back of his shoulder as your legs hook around his hips, keeping him close.

He moves his knees forward, giving him better leverage, and allowing his thighs to cradle your lifted legs.  Bending his head down, he rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. Being pressed so intimately to you, allows his pelvic bone to grind against your clit in lengthened strokes.

You know that this tender love making is coming from Bucky more than the Soldat.  It’s different from what you’re used to doing with him.  But it’s certainly not bad.  You can feel that he’s dropped his walls.  That he’s letting you deep into his heart.  Into his very soul.

You feel a slow burn beginning in your lower belly.  The friction of his body against yours adds to it.  The feeling of his breath on your skin fans the flames. And soon, the flickering fire is turning into a roaring inferno.

As if he senses the change in you, he ups the pace.  The sounds of your skin slapping becomes a steady beat within the room.  His head tilts, nose brushing yours with each thrust.  “Please tell me you’re close,” he whispers, his free hand is clenched tightly around the bed sheets as he desperately tries to stave off his climax. You’re not the only one who has waited 20 years for this and he underestimated his ability to control his need.

You nod your head, “Yes.  Yes! I’m close.  Oh, Krasavchik…”  Your hips jerk up as a sharp thrum runs through you.

“Touch yourself for me,” Bucky pleads, needing you there  _now_.

Your nails scratch at his back as your hand moves south, before coming around to the junction of your thighs.  You collect some of your slick on your middle finger as you come up to circle the tight bundle of nerves.  You move quickly, your finger nearly vibrating as the need for release drives you forward.  Soft whimpering whines slip passed your lips the closer you get to that dangerous edge.

Your other hand clenches his so tightly, you almost wouldn’t be surprised if there would later be indentations in the metal.  “Krasavchik…” you moan lowly.  “Bucky!”

“Now, Y/N,” he urges desperately.  “Come on, Krasavitsa.”

You gasp loudly, back arching, thighs shaking, walls tightening.  Bucky roars in relief, finally allowing himself to fall into oblivion with you.  You both share each other’s pleasure, letting it fill you up and block everything else. In this moment, all the bad fades away. It’s just the two of you sharing your bodies to become one.  There’s no Hydra, no fear, no pain.

Any doubts you had about making this work seem to disappear.  Because even if he couldn’t say it, you knew that this man loved you with his entire being.  And no amount of triggers could ever take that away.

There doesn’t seem to be an end to the pleasure as wave after wave washes over you.  Your muscles run through a series of contractions, your hold on him seeming to tighten with each one.  You don’t want to let him go.  If you could just stay here forever, you would.

You figure Bucky must be having similar thoughts, because he remains in place long after the effects of your climax has dulled.  The first sign of movement you get from him is the loosening of his hand from yours.  You release a soft hiss, at the slight sting of pain you feel when he does so. Turning your head to look at your palm, you discover the reason for the pain in the indentations marked into your skin, left behind from the separations between his plates.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, quickly pulling his hand back and pushing himself up. You can tell he’s already beginning to berate himself for it.

“Bucky,” you call softly, to get his attention.  “It’s okay,” you assure him.  Looking back at your palm, you feel a small smile growing on your lips. “I kind of like it.”

His brow furrows in confusion.  “Why?”

You trace the patterns on your palm with your other hand.  “Because it’s a mark that only you can give me.”

He tilts his head to the side, the confusion on his face not easing.  “There are times when I still don’t understand you, Krasavitsa.”

You laugh, pushing yourself up until you’re able to place a swift kiss on his pouting lips.  “Men aren’t supposed to be able to understand women.  It takes the fun out of it.”

“Life would be much simpler if we could,” he grumbles, causing your smile to widen.

“Simple is boring, though,” you tease.

He raises a doubtful eyebrow.  “Boring actually sounds kind of nice after everything we’ve been through.”

That sobers you a little as your smile drops.  Your gaze washes over his face.  “Bucky, what are we going to do about this?” you ask quietly.  Were you both going to spend the rest of your lives walking on egg shells, trying not to trigger each other?

Bucky sighs, his arms wrapping around you to pull your body closer.  “Whatever we do… we’ll do it together.  T’challa’s scientists are getting closer to figuring out how to break my triggers.  I know they’ll be able to help you as well.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, curling your body into his.  “And if they can’t?”

“Then we’ll figure that out together, too.”


	5. Zhal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> жаль : Zhal : Sorry

After a second round of love making, the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms.  Bucky is able to get a few solid hours of sleep, more restful than he’s used to, but the first rays are just barely beginning to shine when his mind and body wake up.  He can hear your soft breaths and feel your legs tangled between his, letting him know that the last 24 hours haven’t been a dream.

His eyes blink open.  With heightened senses, he’s able to see your sleeping face in the dim morning light. He watches your back rise and fall with each breath, the steady motion keeping his mind calm.  He wishes the calm could last forever, but it doesn’t take long for his mind to drift and soon it’s racing with thoughts of the current predicament he finds himself in.

Knowing that there’s no chance of him falling back to sleep, he carefully shifts away from you before he’s sliding off the bed.  He checks to make sure he hasn’t disturbed you, the corner of his mouth curling up as you roll into his side of the bed, seeking his heat. You bury your face into his pillow, releasing a soft sigh.

His feet are silent as he steps back, grabbing his discarded pajama pants from the floor and slipping them on.  He steps out into the hall, closing his bedroom door behind him.  As he walks toward the kitchen, his gaze is drawn to the open doorway leading to the common area.  The door had been removed from the floor, but the frame was going to have to get taken out and replaced, because the hinges had left holes in the wood when they were ripped out.  Bucky had offered to do it, but T’challa said he already had it handled.

Bucky steps into the kitchen, the tile cold against his bare feet, but not particularly bothering him.  He gets the coffee machine going and pulls a mug down from the cabinet.  He leans his hip against the counter and waits for the machine to finish brewing.  Once it’s ready, he pours a cup and moves to sit at the island in the center of the kitchen.

He’s already halfway through his cup when he hears the first signs of other life in the building.  Based on the heaviness of the step and the stride length, he can tell that it’s Steve coming down the hallway.

The blonde stops in the doorway when he notices his friend.  “Are you alright?” Steve asks after a long moment.

Bucky continues to stare forward, not even giving Steve a glance. “Not exactly the word I would use.”

Steve sighs, taking a step in.  “Buck, look-”

“Did you really have to be such an asshole to her?” Bucky cuts him off, finally turning his head to face Steve, an irritated expression on his face.

Steve winces, looking down at the floor.  “I was just trying to get to the truth…”

“By screaming at her and threatening her?”

“Buck, she used to work for Hydra,” he tries to defend himself.

“ _I_  use to work for Hydra,” Bucky stresses.  “You can’t-” He makes himself take a breath, knowing that losing his temper won’t help the situation.  “You can’t tell me that all the shit I did wasn’t my fault, and then turn around and treat her like a criminal, when she didn’t even do anything.”

“She tried to kill you.”

“She wasn’t in control!”

“I had to make sure,” Steve insists, stepping further into the kitchen. “It never even crossed your mind that she could be a threat.  Hydra was counting on that.  How can you not see that?”

“How can  _you_  not see that I’m not the same Bucky that fell from the train?” Bucky retaliates harshly.

That catches Steve off guard.  “What?”

Bucky grimaces, trying to keep his temper in check.  “Steve, I know that you don’t mean to.  But you keep pressuring me to be that guy again.  And  _I can’t_. That Bucky doesn’t exist anymore…”

Steve frowns deeply, “I know that.”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky denies, looking down at the coffee in his hands. “You say you do, and you think you do, but you don’t  _actually_  know.  Part of the reason I ran off to Romania in the first place is because I knew I wouldn’t be able to live up to your expectations.  I’m not the Winter Soldier any more, but he’s still inside me.  He’s still a part of me.  And I knew you wouldn’t be able to accept that.”

Bucky lifts his gaze, wincing when he sees the hurt look on Steve’s face, but the former Captain was in dire need of a reality check.  “Steve, you’re my best friend… But I _need_  her.  She doesn’t have to learn to accept the Winter Soldier as a part of me, because she accepted him before she even knew  _this_  me. She knew  _him_  and she didn’t care.  She wasn’t afraid of him.  If she… If she could fall in love with  _him_.  That’s gotta mean there’s some hope for me, right?”

Bucky sighs, his gaze falling back to the mug in his hands.  “When I’m with her, I don’t feel that pressure. She saw me at my worst and she loved me anyways.  She was the only one to ever treat me like a human rather than a weapon.  She made me feel normal, when everything around me was anything but.  She fills the gaps that you aren’t able to.”

Steve releases a long exhale, crossing his arms over his chest and moving to lean back against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen from Bucky. He’s silent for a good several minutes, trying to come to terms with everything Bucky’s just said.  “Alright,” he finally surrenders.  “So, what are we going to do about…?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Bucky shrugs with a frown.  “I don’t know how ingrained the trigger is in her.”

“We’ll have to run tests.  Are you sure you can handle seeing her like that?  You can’t keep going easy on her.”

“I’ll be more prepared if I know it’s coming,” Bucky states; however, he sounds like he’s trying to convince Steve just as much as himself.

Before the conversation can go further, they both hear your voice calling out from down the hall.  “Bucky?”

“In the kitchen, Krasavitsa,” he calls back.

You follow the sound of his voice, checking the open doorways, until you find him sitting at the island.  You smile, stepping into the kitchen, but tense up when you notice the other presence in the room.  You eye Steve warily, not moving an inch as the tension builds between the two of you.

Steve is the first to break eye contact.  “Y/N, I should apologize for the way I acted yesterday.”

You feel some of the tension dissipate, allowing you to move further into the kitchen. “It’s alright.  You were just trying to protect Bucky.”

Steve sends Buck a pointed look, as if saying  _See? She gets it_.

Bucky rolls his eyes, beckoning you to take a seat next to him.  “Did you sleep alright?”

You nod, sitting in the stool next to his.  “You were always good at tiring me out, Krasavchik.”

It difficult to fight off his smirk, your words inflating an ego he hasn’t had since the 40s.  Before he can respond, Sam steps into the kitchen.  “Morning, guys,” he greets through a yawn, however he pauses when he sees you sitting at the island.

You lift your gaze, frowning when you see the bundle of gauze taped over his nose, with a slight bruising on his cheek.  “Sam, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, feeling awful for hurting him.

His muscles relax and he gives you a small smile.  “It’s alright.  You didn’t break anything, and the doctors here are pretty amazing.  They fixed me right up.  Just try not to do that again,” he gives you a wink before moving to pour himself a cup of coffee.

You feel your lips tilt upward in a small smile.  “I don’t plan on it.”

He moves to sit on the other side of the island as you and Bucky.  He sips at his coffee, eyeing you curiously. “So… Is there anything else you can tell us about the whole trigger thing?  Like does it have to be said in Russian?  Will you react if just anyone says it, even if it’s not to you?  You seemed fine when you said it yourself.”

You raise an eyebrow, mildly surprised that he doesn’t want to dance around the issue like everyone else does.  “It’s any language, unfortunately…  But, as far as I know, it’s only Bucky that can activate the trigger,” you explain.

“So if I said I loved you right now, it wouldn’t do anything?”

“Sam!” Steve chastises, his muscles tensing, ready to spring at any moment.

“Oh shit!” Sam gives a startled gasp, slapping a hand over his mouth.

You smirk in amusement.  “I do, somewhat have an urge to kill you, but it’s not from the Hydra programing.”

“Get in line,” Bucky grumbles darkly.

You place your hand on his thigh and give him a reassuring squeeze. “The programming was designed around my emotional connection to Bucky.  He’s the only one that can activate it.”

Sam carefully lowers his hand from his mouth, “No offense, but your brother was an asshole.”

You release a dry laugh, “None taken.  I agree with you.”

It’s silent in the room for a moment before Steve shifts from his position and moves closer to the island.  “How much do you know about Buck’y triggers?” he asks.

You tilt your head in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Do you know how to deactivate them?”

“Deactivate…?” you repeat.  “Not that I know of.”  You frown, thinking it over.  “Bucky said you had my brother’s notebook.  Is there anything in there?”

Steve sighs, leaning his hands against the counter top.  “That’s the thing.  The whole book is in Russian and half of it is coded.  Nat’s been translating what she can, but we haven’t gotten very far.”

“Nat?” you ask, glancing at Bucky.

“She’s a friend of ours,” he explains.

You nod in understanding.  “Would you mind… If I looked at it?”

Bucky turns his gaze to the other two, as if seeking permission.  Sam turns to look at Steve.  Steve stares straight at you.  You hold his gaze, but try to do so in a way that doesn’t appear threatening.  You realize that trust is the issue preventing him from agreeing.

“You can be in the room with me, if it will make you feel better.”

Steve thinks it over for a moment.  “Fine, but Bucky can’t be.”

“No way in hell,” Bucky cuts in.

“Buck…”

“No Steve.  I have more right to be there than anyone.  She won’t hurt me.  You need to trust her.”

Steve looks like he wants to argue more, but he holds his tongue.  “Fine.  Let’s go.”   He pushes off the counter and walks out the kitchen, his muscles tense.

Bucky releases a strained sigh before sliding off his stool.  “Come on,” he helps you off yours then takes your hand and guides you out of the kitchen.  Sam follows behind.  The three of you stay a few paces back from Steve, wanting to give him his space.

The tension never leaves his shoulders as he walks into one of the medical rooms.  “You’re up early,” you hear his voice speak.

It’s a woman’s voice that responds.  “Still trying to break this damn code.”

You round the corner and step into the room to find Steve standing next to a desk, where a red head stands on the other side, crouched over your brother’s notebook.  When she lifts her head up and your eyes meet, you feel every muscle in your body tense up.

Bucky notices the change immediately and he looks at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

You don’t even hear him; the blood is pounding too loudly in your ears. “Natalia…?” you ask in a hushed whisper.

The woman’s gaze narrows as she looks at you in suspicion.  “How do you…”

You find yourself taking a step closer to her.  “You look just like your mother,” you mutter in a daze.  “But, you have your father’s red hair…”

Nat turns her glare to Steve.  “What the hell is this?” she asks in a hostile voice.

Steve looks just as surprised as everyone else for a moment, before it clicks.  His head swings to you.  “The little girl… The one your brother took.  That was Natasha?”

Bucky tenses up beside you as the realization hits.  “Oh shit…”

Natasha’s gaze remains fixed on you as she moves around the desk.  “How do you know my parents?”

You feel a pang in your chest as your throat tightens up.  “Because it’s my fault that they’re dead.”

The words take a second to sink in, but once they do, she’s ready to pounce. Steve quickly grabs her around the waist when she tries to lunge for you.  Bucky takes a defensive stance in front of you, watching as Nat tries to struggle with Steve.

“Nat, calm down!” Steve yells.

“Let me go!” She growls, trying to pry open his arms.

“Steve, get her out of here!”  Bucky screams, backing you up against the wall.

Steve carries her out of the room as quickly as he can with her struggling to break free.  Sam rushes to close and lock the door once they’re out in the hall.  You can still hear her screams, though.

“Holy shit!” Sam cries out.  “I’ve never seen Natasha react like that.”

“She’s still trying to figure out how to grieve after she went back to look for them,” Bucky responds.  “She’s been trained to hold her emotions in, but everyone has something that sets them off.”

“Trained?” you ask, stepping out from behind him.  “You know what my brother did to her, don’t you?”

He doesn’t look inclined to respond, so Sam does it for him.  “Karpov took her to the Red Room.”

You gasp in horror, cupping a hand over your mouth.  “Please tell me you’re joking!”  He shakes his head, glancing away from you.  “Well no wonder she had that reaction.  Not only did I kill her parents, but I ruined her life!”

“Y/N, no.  It’s not your fault,” Bucky tries to tell you.

You back away from his reach.  “It’s  _all_  my fault.  I never should have tried to leave!  The blood of her parents is on my hands.  And now knowing that she was given to that torturous, child-hating bitch?!  That’s on me, too.”  Your breaths come in gasping pants as nausea makes your stomach turn.  You should have known there would be a greater consequence to your actions. There always was.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” Sam advises, gently guiding you to the chair behind the desk.

You try to steady your breathing, but it doesn’t help to keep your mind from racing.  “I-I need a distraction,” you mumble.  Your gaze lands on the notebook sitting in front of you.  You immediately reach for it and begin sifting through the pages.  It takes several tries before you can focus your mind enough to actually read the words on the page.  They were correct, most of the book was written in code; however, it was a code that you recognized.  “Oh my God,” you mutter, your breath normalizing.

“What is it?” Bucky asks you cautiously, not wanting to set you off again.

“I can read this,” you marvel, lifting your gaze to his.

“You can?”

“Vasily and I were a lot closer when we were young.  He was put in training long before I was even allowed on a Hydra base.  After he had learned about coding and encryptions, he taught me some of it and we developed a code to communicate with each other without anyone else being able to tell what we were saying…  That’s the code he’s used in this book.”

“Does it say anything about deactivating the triggers?” Sam asks you.

You look back down at the book and flip through several pages.  You sigh when the answer you hope to find isn’t the one you receive.  “No. Which makes sense.  They wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble to make Bucky compliant if there was an easy way out to get rid of their work.”

Bucky and Sam’s shoulders drop.  Of course the answer they were looking for wouldn’t be so easy to find.

“However…” you continue as you read.  “My brother has some notes pertaining to Bucky’s defiance.  He was worried that you word learn how to break the triggers yourself, if given enough time or enough reason to.  That’s why they had to wipe you so often.  Your resilience was astonishing.”

“Break them myself?  How?”

You shrug and shake your head.  “It doesn’t say.”  You flip through a few more pages.  You purse your lips as you think it over.  “Do you remember,” you start, looking up at him.  “What was going through your head when my brother told you to shoot me, and you didn’t?”

He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.  “I was thinking that I didn’t want to shoot you,” he replies like it’s obvious.

“See?  You need a reason passionate enough to defy your orders.”

“But that doesn’t prevent the triggers from working in the first place. I’ll still turn into the Winter Soldier.”

You sigh softly.  “I guess that’s true…”

“Hey, this is still more progress than we’ve made in weeks.  Don’t look so bummed out,” Sam tells you both. “If we can figure out how to snap you out of it, that’ll be so much better than what we’ve been doing.”

You look at the two of them curiously.  “What have you been doing?”

The two share a sheepish look and you immediately know you’re not going to like the answer.

Bucky scratches at the back of his neck, unable to meet your gaze.  “They kind of have to…”

“We knock him out,” Sam finishes.

You stare at the two of them incredulously, waiting for one of them to tell you they were kidding.  But the way they can’t seem to meet your gaze, you know that they’re serious.  You release a long sigh, shaking your head.  “This is why men should not be allowed to rule.”

You stand up, grabbing the notebook and push your chair out from behind the desk.  “Sit,” you tell Bucky.

He raises an eyebrow.  “Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he responds without hesitation.

“Then sit.”  You wait for him to take a seat before turning to the page you need.  “I’m going to help you figure out how to break out of the Winter Soldier state.”


	6. Komandir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Командир : Komandir : Commander

“Whoa, you’re going to  _what_?” Sam asks, stepping forward.  “You realize that I can’t let you do that.  Right?”

You look at him from over the edge of the book.  “I know what he’s like when he becomes the Soldat.  He needs structure.  You don’t just activate him and then leave him.  And you certainly shouldn’t come after him with the intention of knocking him out.  Even with his healing abilities, it’s only a matter of time before a hit like that causes permanent brain damage.  If there’s another way, we need to find it.”

“Sam, it’s okay,” Bucky assures him.  He looks up at you.  “I trust you,” he confirms.

Sam shakes his head, taking several paces back.  “Steve is going to kill me,” he mumbles to himself.

“Zhelaniye,” you start, reading the words from the book.  “Rzhavoy, Semnadtsat’, Rassvet,”  You circle around his chair, keeping your gaze locked to the book, despite how much you want to look at him.  “Piech’, Devyat’, Dobroserdechnyy,” from the corner of your eyes, you notice his shoulders rise and fall with a shaky breath.  Even though he trusts you, there’s still a part of him that’s resisting the programming.  “Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu, Odin, Gruzovoy vagon.”  You come around to his front, closing the book with a snap, “Priviet, Soldat.” You look down at him, your heart clenching when you see that the sparkle in his eyes has disappeared.

“Ya gotov otvechat’,” he responds, keeping his gaze locked forward.

“We’re going to run through a series of tests today.  You are not to engage in combat unless instructed to do so. Is that clear, Soldat?” you tell him.

He nods his head once.  “Da, Komandir.”   _Yes, Commander_.

His name for you makes you sick to your stomach, but you know that it’s a good sign that he’s willing to follow your orders.

“So, what are you going to do with him now?” Sam asks, keeping a safe distance away, not wanting to startle the Soldat.

“Give him orders until he stops listening to me.” you state like it’s so simple.

“And what if he never stops?”

“The book says that with enough time, the effects of the programming begin to wear off and he needs to get restarted.  He won’t be like this forever, and as long as he’s under my command, I won’t let him hurt any of you.”

“Wait a minute…” Sam speaks.  Something about what you just said sparks in his mind.  “A restart,” he mumbles.

You look at him in confusion.  “What?”

“When we knock him out, the hit acts like a restart, but instead of reactivating the soldier, it reactivates Bucky.  We need to figure out an alternate method that will jumpstart his brain.”

You nod along to his words, thinking them over.  “That actually makes a lot of sense.  Maybe you’re not as useless as I originally thought you were.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, “I can’t tell if there was a compliment hidden in that insult.”

You smirk at him before turning back to the Soldat.  He remains sitting in his chair, waiting for your orders. “So all we have to do is find an activity that stimulates his brain enough to overcome the triggers.”

“So that’s basically exercise, eating, or having sex,” Sam ticks off his fingers.  You glance back at him with a raised eyebrow.  “What?  I took biology in high school…”

You roll your eyes.  “The only reason you remember that is because it has sex in it.”  You turn your head to Bucky once more.  “Soldat, take me to the training room.”

He rises to his feet, his movements fluid.  Even though he’s been ordered to be non-combative, there’s still an edge of danger that wasn’t there before.  He unlocks and pulls open the door, pausing when he finds Steve standing on the other side.  His muscles tense almost instantly.

“Stand down,” you order, before Bucky can do anything.

Steve eyes the two of you warily, sensing the danger.  “Buck, what’s wrong?”

“Ty moya missiya.”   _You are my mission_.

“No, Soldat.  Stand down,” you repeat.

Putting the pieces together, Steve narrows his gaze at you.  “What have you done?” he asks with a deadly tone.

Bucky takes a protective stance in front of you.  “Do I engage, Komandir?”

“No, Soldat,” you say as calmly as you can.  “Steve, you need to back off.”

Instead, he takes a step closer, putting the Soldat even more on edge.  “He’s my mission.  I need to complete my mission,” he mumbles.  He feels torn, because he’s also on non-combative orders.  He doesn’t know what to do.

“Soldat,” you tug on his arm, turning him away from Steve.  “Look at me.”  His cool blue gaze meet yours, a crease forming between his brows from the conflict he feels within.  “The man who gave you those orders is dead now.  You don’t have to complete that mission any more.  It’s over,” you explain.

He holds your gaze for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders very slowly beginning to ease. “I am to leave the mission incomplete?” he asks.

The thumb on your hand that grips his forearm swipes over his skin in a soothing gesture.  “The mission has changed.”  That seems to make the last of his tension dissipate.

“Da, Komandir.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief, grateful to have been able to diffuse the situation.  “Sam?” you ask with a jerk of your head, asking him to deal with Steve.

Sam steps forward. “Steve, it’s okay.”

The blonde turns his hardened gaze on his friend.  “How could you let her do this?”

“We might have figured out a way to break him out of the Winter Soldier state.”

That doesn’t seem to do anything to ease Steve’s worries.  “Why didn’t you wait for me to get back?”

“Dude, look at him,” Sam gestures over to Bucky.  “Have you ever seen him so calm?  She knows what she’s doing.”

Steve’s gaze turns to ice as he looks more at you than at Bucky, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

You have to fight with yourself to keep from rolling your eyes.  “Soldat, take me to the training room,” you repeat your earlier orders.

He moves out of the room, barely even giving Steve a glance now.  As you follow after, you hear the other two coming as well.

“What the hell were you thinking, Sam?” Steve asks in a none too quiet whisper.

“I was thinking that she’s able to read the book, and she knows more about the Winter Soldier than any of the rest of us.  You really need to start realizing that maybe you’re not the only one with Bucky’s best interests.”

You keep your gaze locked forward, despite how much you want to look back at the two of them.  You enter the training room, once again surprised by the amount of technology you’re seeing.  Not only was it 20 years of advancement, but you were also in Wakanda, the most technologically advanced country in the world.  Not even pretending that you could order him to use equipment of which you didn’t even know the name of, you tell him to commence with his normal training routine.

He heads for the treadmill first, one of the few machines you  _did_  recognize.  You stand back and watch, observing him for any signs that Bucky’s coming back to the surface.  Feeling a presence step up next to you, you pull your gaze away for a moment, glancing at Steve before flicking back.

“So, you told him to do his usual routine, but this is Bucky’s routine, not the Winter Soldier’s,” Steve comments.  He hasn’t asked a question, but you know he’s waiting for a response.

“There is a fine line that separates Bucky from the Soldat, Captain Rogers.  In some places, that line doesn’t exist.  No matter how much you wish it to be untrue, Bucky  _is_  the Winter Soldier.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. It’s really grating on his nerves to have everyone telling him the same thing over and over again.  “And you really think exercise is going to help him snap out of it?” he asks with thinly concealed venom.

You don’t let his anger get to you, maintaining a calm exterior.  “Stimulus of the brain will help further the process.  We’re trying to find a way to restart his brain function, without causing damage.  Or would you rather just keep hitting your best friend in the head until he blacks out?” you ask, giving him a dry look.

Steve scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and moving his gaze to watch Bucky.

“Soldat, what is your status?” you ask after several minutes of watching him run.

“Ya gotov otvechat’.” The response is still automatic.

You sigh, of course it wouldn’t be that easy.  “Alright, what’s next?”

“Strength training,” Steve informs you, gesturing with a nod of his head to all the equipment you can’t name.

The Soldat navigates the equipment with ease, tugging on pulleys to lift weights of varying sizes. He pulls up, down, sideways, diagonally, each device requiring a different type of movement.  It nearly makes your head spin, just trying to keep up.

Every once in a while, you’ll ask him his status. You always receive the same response.  “This isn’t working,” you mumble, biting your lower lip. “We need to try something more spontaneous, not so repetitive and dull.”

“You asked him to complete his routine.  Well this is his routine,” Steve comments snidely.

You’ve just about had enough of his attitude.  “Well, now I  _don’t_  want him to complete his routine.  A person is allowed to change their mind.  I’m trying to help him, goddamn it!”  Hearing the rise of your voice, Bucky releases the set of weights he has up and takes a step toward you.  You place a hand up to stop him, releasing a breath in an effort to calm down.  “It’s fine, Krasavchik.  I mean, Soldat,” you correct, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head.  You have to focus, you can’t let Steve get under your skin.

“How about simulation training?” Sam asks, hesitantly stepping in.

You rub a hand against your forehead, trying to will away the ache that’s beginning to form as you open your eyes again.  “What?”

Sam leads you to a room next door, Bucky and Steve following behind.  The room is gigantic, with a domed ceiling and a touch screen console near the entrance.  Sam steps up to the console, tapping and swiping across the screen.

Moments later, three figures appear in the center of the room.  They’re human in shape, but possess no physical features.  They seem to be made purely out of a blue light, and they’re almost… transparent, except for the solid blue circle on the center of their chest.

“Are those… holograms?” you ask with a tilt of your head.  You walk up to one of them.  Reaching a hand out, it passes straight through the body, the image flickering slightly. “This is incredible,” you mutter to yourself.  Stepping back, you turn to move to Sam’s side once more.  “Can you start a training session for him?  One he hasn’t done before.”

Sam nods and begins to type on the console again.

“Why can’t he just spar with one of us?”  Steve asks.

You don’t move your gaze away from Sam’s fingers, trying to learn how to use the machine from watching him. “Because he already knows your moves. In order to achieve maximum brain function, he needs to be in an unpredictable environment.  And besides, fighting an actual opponent may trigger something else within him that won’t be so easy to control.  I’ve already talked him out of killing you once, I may not be so lucky a second time.”

“Alright.  We’re ready to go,” Sam informs you.  Two more enemies appear, making a total of five.

“Soldat, commence your training.”

He moves toward the first enemy.  The hologram falls into a defensive stance.  The Soldat attacks first, aiming a punch at the head.  The hologram ducks, but doesn’t account for the second fist coming straight at it.  The Soldat’s fist passes straight through, however when he pulls back, you notice a piece of the circle is removed from the chest of the hologram, like a piece of pie getting taken from a pie tin.

The more damage the Soldat does, the more chunks that get removed from the circle.  As the hologram reaches the end of its life, the sliver becomes red.  With one final blow, the circle empties and the image of the hologram flickers away.

The Soldat goes for the next one, however all four react and begin to attack him at once.  He has to step up his game, needing to go on the defensive more, and striking only when the opportunity is best.

“When he takes damage from them, his attacks become less effective,” Sam explains to you.

You nod in understanding, keeping your gaze locked on Bucky.  It’s difficult to look elsewhere.  The way he moves is extremely captivating.  He makes it look so effortless, like every movement is planned from the beginning.

With each enemy that falls, the simulation grows more difficult.  The Soldat has to pull out nearly all of his moves to take down the final enemy.  It takes less damage with each hit, and it moves much faster than before.

With a grunt of effort, the Soldat takes down the last enemy with a metal fist straight through the head. The image flickers several times before fading away.

“Soldat, what’s your status?” you ask.

He pants to catch his breath, slowly lowering his extended arm and straightening up.  His gaze lifts to yours.  For a very fleeting moment, you see a flicker of life returning to his gaze. But before you’ve even registered its presence, the flicker disappears and he responds, “Ya gotov otvechat’.”

Your shoulders drop in a sigh.  You were getting closer.  You  _know_  you were getting closer.  But it still wasn’t enough.  With your hands on your hips, you turn to face Sam.  “So, is it lunch time, yet?”

Sam chuckles lightly and gestures to the door.  “Let’s head back to the kitchen and find out.”

“Giving up already?” Steve asks as you walk passed.

“Changing tactics,” you respond.  “Come, Soldat.”  You walk out with Sam, Bucky close behind and Steve bringing up the rear.  “We should try something with a lot of flavor.  And something he’s never had before.  It will trigger a bigger response, hopefully.”

“We can ask Wanda for help, she’s always cooking up the weirdest shit,” Sam tells you.

“Calling my food ‘shit’ isn’t going to make me very inclined to cook you anything, Sam,” you hear a new, accented feminine voice speak as you enter the kitchen.  The woman is a few years younger than the rest of the team, and she’s currently stirring some type of soup in a pot on the stove.  Her gaze seems to pierce you when she looks at you. “So you are the new guest that’s been causing a lot of trouble around here.”

“You are Sokovian?” you ask, placing her accent.

“Yes, and you are Russian. Do you have a problem with that?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

You shake your head, “No, of course not.”  Glancing away from her, you look at Sam and then at Bucky.  “I’ve just never been exposed to a team of such diverse individuals.”

Wanda gives you a small smile, her demeanor becoming warmer than it had been moments before.  “Steve has a knack for collecting strays.”

Sam snorts, “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Glancing back at the former Captain, you find he’s already looking back at you.  “So what’s the plan now?” he asks.

“Now we see if food can trigger the response we need,” you explain.

“I overheard what was going on, and I’ve prepared this as a result.  It’s full of an assortment of flavors, and I assure you, Bucky’s never tried it before.  It’s a family recipe,” Wanda speaks, turning back to the pot.

You raise an eyebrow at her, “You over heard us?”  You had only mentioned your requirements for the food a few minutes ago.  It wouldn’t have given her nearly enough time to prepare.

“Wanda can read minds,” Sam whispers to you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, as you look at her through a new light.  You wonder briefly how a person with such powers could end up as a “stray”.  You figured now wasn’t the time or place to ask.  “Are you hungry, Soldat?” you ask.

He looks down at you, eyes still emotionless.  “If you wish for me to eat, Komandir, I will eat.”

Not exactly the response you were hoping for, but pretty much the one you were expecting.

“Well, the soup is now done, so lunch is served,” Wanda tells you all.  She fills several bowls with the delicious smelling soup, as Sam passes the bowls around.

You all settle around the kitchen island.  When Bucky grabs his spoon, the rest of you hold your breaths in anticipation.  He dips the spoon into the broth, lifting it to his lips and blowing on it to cool it.  He takes his first taste, allowing the soup to settle on his tongue for a moment before swallowing.  He then pulls his bowl closer to him, eagerly taking a second bite.

The rest of you share a hopeful look and start digging into your own bowls.  The soup is amazing.  So many flavors packed into one bite, the vegetables adding even more to the mixture. “This is magnificent, Wanda.  Thank you,” you tell her.

She smiles at you from across the way, “It’s my pleasure.”

Bucky is the first to finish.  For a while he sits in silence, staring at his empty bowl.  Taking notice, you lift your gaze up to his.  “Would you like a second bowl?” you ask him quietly.

His gaze flicks to yours. You can tell he wants to say yes, but at the same time, he’s not supposed to want anything.  You give him a reassuring smile, reaching out to grab his bowl and get up.  You fill it with another helping of soup and bring it back to him.

“Spasibo,” he mutters quietly.   _Thank you._

You lean closer to him, “You don’t have to hesitate in asking me for something.  I will not punish you like the others have.”

He meets your gaze once more, searching for the sincerity there.  You keep your expression soft, trying to show him that he can trust you. After a moment passes, he nods once. You’re not sure if he truly accepts your words or only nodded because he thought it would satisfy you.  You take what you can get, because he’s already turned back to consume his second bowl of soup.

The meal is spent mostly in silence after that.  The scrape of spoons against bowls and the occasional slurp filling the kitchen. When you’ve finished, Sam and Steve offer to do the dishes.  Wanda gives you a small smile before she bids you farewell, saying she’s needed elsewhere in the facility.

You glance once more at the man sitting beside you.  “Soldat, what’s your status?”

“Ya gotov otvechat’,” he tells you again.

You’re unable to conceal your sigh of disappointment, biting your lower lip and looking down at your hands which rest in your lap.

“Am I doing something wrong?” he asks hesitantly.

You look up at him in surprise.  “What? No, of course not.”

The crease is back between his brows.  “You seem disappointed with my performance.”  He looks vulnerable, almost ashamed that he can’t seem to satisfy you.

You reach your hand out to cup his jaw, your thumb gently stroking his cheek.  “No, Soldat.  It’s not that.  I promise, you have nothing to worry about.”

“So, what are we trying next?” Steve asks you, his tone more curious now, rather than mocking.

You pull your hand back, turning to face him.  You give him a wary look, knowing he isn’t going to like your response.  “Well…” you start.  “It was Sam’s idea,” you blurt out quickly.

Sam’s eyes widen, “Wha-  Just because I said it, doesn’t mean we actually planned to do it!”

Steve looks at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.  “What is  _it_?”

“Uh…”  Sam looks down at his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sex?”

Steve’s head swings to look at you.  “Please tell me you got Bucky’s permission for this  _before_  you put him under?!”

You feel your cheeks flush. “Well, not exactly.  But it’s not like I needed his permission last night…”

The two men gape at you.

“You two…” Sam points between you and Bucky.

“Last night?” Steve questions.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Damn.  We’ve been here for months, Barnes asleep for half that time, and he  _still_  manages to get laid before I do,” Sam mutters, not quite low enough to be counted as under his breath.

“Sam,” Steve chastises. He exhales a slow breath, placing his hands on his hips and looking you over.  “Do you think it will work?”

You look at him, surprised that he isn’t flat out disagreeing with the idea.  You shrug your shoulders, “I have no idea.  But there’s only one way to find out.”


	7. Khochu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Хочу : Khochu : Want

Your bedroom door shuts with a click as you lean your back against it.  The Soldat stands in the center of your room, observing his surroundings.  The pajama pants are slung low on his waist.  After a night of healing, the bruises on his side were nearly nonexistent, and the cut on his cheek was now a small scratch.  “Do you know what is about to happen, Soldat?” you ask, keeping your position at the door.

He glances at you from the side.  “I am not deaf,” he responds.  He heard everything you’d said to Steve and Sam, he just never commented on it, because it wasn’t his place to do so.

“And what are your thoughts on it?”  He turns to face you as you step closer.

“I will do anything you command.”

You stop just a few paces away from him, looking up into his eyes.  “That’s not what I asked you.”

He takes a step forward, closing the gap even more.  “We have shared a bed before.  I would not be opposed to doing it again.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You remember that?”

He takes another step. “I remember everything.”

One more step and your chests are now brushing.  You have to crane your head back to meet his gaze.  “Soldat…” you breathe.

He leans his head down, lips teasing over yours by not completely meeting.  “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

You feel breathless and light headed.  You’d never imagine that he’d remember you.  “Krasavchik,” your hands cup his cheeks, bringing his lips eagerly to yours.

You feel his hands on your waist, tugging you closer until your body fits snuggly against his. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh. This is the man that you remember. The one that can devour you with a single kiss.

“How do you still remember me?” you ask blearily when he pulls back, just one taste from him and you’re already a goner.

His darkened gaze washes over your face.  “It is hard to forget the woman that gave you everything.”  There is an underlying tone of possessiveness that makes the sentimentality of his words a little off, but before you can question it, he’s already got his mouth on you again.

Your fingers explore his chest and back.  You’ve already memorized the plains of skin, but you can never get enough.  You wait for him to do the same, but his hands remain firmly planted to your hips.  You pause when you realize he’s waiting for your orders.

“Krasavchik, you can do what you want.  I will not command you.  Not for this,” you tell him.

His eyes flicker between yours, his flesh fingers curling under your chin as his thumb swipes over your bottom lip.  “This is your one chance to make me do  _whatever_ you want me to, and you will not take it?”

“Of course not,” you tell him, like there isn’t even another option.

“Why not?”

“Because I am not your Komandir.  I am just a woman that loves you.”  You look up at him tenderly, “You own me, Krasavchik.”

He looks conflicted as he stares back.  “You should not have allowed that to happen.”

You frown slightly, not expecting that response.  “What do you mean?”

“Because I will only bring you pain.”

You pull his hand from your face, your fingers gliding over his palm before curling between his own fingers.  “I don’t believe that.”

He sighs, almost sadly, his gaze drifting away from you.  “You will,” he whispers, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

You look at him curiously, with a tilt of your head.  “What’s wrong, Krasavchik?” you ask in concern.

His gaze carefully lifts back to yours.  “You will find out soon enough.”  His head dips down, lips grazing against your cheek before they trail down your jaw.

Your eyes fall shut, head tilting back as he makes his way down your neck.  You know he is distracting you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. His fingers slip out of yours so he can slide his hands underneath your top.  His touch tickles your skin, sending shivers up your spine.  His palms skim up your sides, taking your shirt with them.  You lift your arms, to allow him to remove the item of clothing with ease.

His teeth nip and suck at a spot on your collarbone, arms curling around your back to pin your body to his.  Your hands slide over his shoulders, one tracing out the contours of his sinewy muscles, the other following the patterns of his metal plates.  You can feel his length beginning to harden against your abdomen.  Tilting your hips forward, you grind shamelessly against him.

His chest rumbles with a growl, his teeth nipping a little harder at your skin.  Your hands make their way down his chest, falling to the waistband on his pants.  The elastic slides down his hips with ease.  Following your example, his hands push down your pajama shorts and undies from the back, his fingers squeezing your butt as the fabric falls down your legs.

Your knee glides against his outer thigh as you bend your leg up to rest your knee against his hip. His hand follows the curve of your ass and down the underside of your thigh, cradling the back of your knee to pin your leg in place.  He lifts your other leg with his free hand as your arms curl around his neck to hold onto him.

He makes his way to the bed, shuffling to the center on his knees.  He sits back on his heels, keeping your body in his lap as you straddle his thighs.  His lips are back on yours, his kiss hungry and eager.  You shift onto your knees, raising up slightly to challenge his kiss. His hands slide back to your ass, giving you a squeeze of warning.  You smirk against his mouth, lips parting so your teeth can sink into his lower lip.

He pulls back, releasing another low growl.  He pins you with a darkened gaze, which you feel all the way down to the apex of your thighs.  Your fingers comb through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp.  You feel the muscles in his thighs flex beneath you.

“Tell me you want this, Krasavchik,” you plead desperately, feeling your body throb with want.  “I need you to say it.  Be honest.”  You know he’s not going to say no, but you still feel like you need a confirmation.  He needs to agree because he wants to, not because he’s been commanded.

His hips rock up until you feel his tip brush against your folds.  You whimper at the teasing touch, trying to fight everything in you to keep from sinking down.  You’re so wet, you know it would be easy, but you can’t, not until he confirms.  One of his hands leaves your ass to grip the base of his shaft.  It gives him more control to glide his head against you, your slick coating him with each pass.

He watches you bite your lip as you try to resist your urges.  It takes you a moment to realize he’s testing you.  He wants to see if you’ll stick to your word, or if you’ll take what you want from him.  Your entire body shakes with need, but you resist.  “Krasavchik, please.”

His gaze drops to your lips as you speak before his eyes lift back up.  “Ya khochu tebya,” he finally tells you.   _I want you_.

You cry out in relief when you feel his tip push into your entrance.  You lower down, meeting him half way as he lifts his hips up.  The stretch of your walls is a welcome sensation. The ache between your thighs easing slightly because there’s finally something to clench around.  Your head falls back, a low moan rumbling out of your chest.

“You’re too good for me,” the Soldat mumbles deeply.  He leans forward, lips running across your exposed throat.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s not true,” you stammer, your mind barely able to form words at this point.

His hands slide up your back, fingers spread wide to cover as much area as he can.  “I’ve been selfish,” he confesses.

You don’t have time to question him further, because he begins to move against you and your mind promptly goes blank.  He starts slow, a gentle to-and-fro motion of his hips.  You follow his movement with a roll of your hips, feeling him sink in just a little further.  He feels good.  He always does, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it.

He gradually works into a faster pace.  He’s being careful, more careful than he usually is when he’s in the Winter Soldier state.  You wonder briefly if it has something to do with his earlier concerns, or if it’s a sign that Bucky’s coming through.

Your fingers curl into the hair at the base of his neck as his lips ghost over your shoulder.  Your breasts bounce with every thrust and it becomes too much for him to resist.  His hands cradle your ribcage, his thumbs pointed inward, just grazing the underside of your breasts.  You can’t quiet your moans when his tongue comes out to circle your left breast.

“ _Oh_ … Krasavchik.”  Your hand curls into a fist in his hair, body arching into his hot mouth.

He teases you with light kitten licks, flicking the very tip of his tongue against you.  Your nipples tighten, the left from his ministrations and the right aching for attention.  Your body becomes a quivering mess above him, your muscles pulled taut until you feel like you’re going to snap.

Your thighs are beginning to feel a slow burn from bouncing above him.  You rotate your hips a little faster, catching your clit on his pelvic bone with every thrust.  The tight bundle of nerves aches like your breasts, desperate for attention.  He switches to your right breast, allowing the cool air to tickle your wet left nipple.  The contrast of cool versus hot reminds you of his hands; though, the metal has now soaked up your body heat, becoming warm to the touch.

Said hands slide back down your sides, curling down to grip your ass once more.  He uses the leverage to hold you still so he can pound into you a little more urgently.  He arches his hips, allowing the ridge of his pelvic bone to become more prominent.

You release a small gasp, working your clit against him shamelessly.  You can tell he’s close, the way his chest rumbles in an almost purring growl.  His fingers dig into the globes of your ass, his balls slapping against your skin every time you meet.

He sucks your nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth over the sensitive peak.  That draws out another whimper from your lips.  The gentleness he exhibited before begins to dissipate as the need for release drives his more animalistic instincts.  

Your breaths come out in short pants, almost every one vocalized with a soft mew.  The pleasure is building within you.  Making your body tighter.  Making him seem thicker.  Harder. “Oh God.   _Bucky_.  God!”

There it is.  Your body arches, Bucky’s metal hand slides quickly up to the center of your back, supporting your arch, but also keeping your body from moving too far away from him.  His lips are still on your breast, sucking at the peaked bud, tongue lapping at it in tight circles.

You clench around his length, your slick walls trembling around him.  He grunts deeply, his voice gravelly and rough.  You feel his entire body stiffen beneath yours before he’s spilling into you.  He releases your breast with a soft groan, his forehead resting against your collarbone. He continues to thrust, milking the release you both feel.  The jerks come to a lazy stop, however, when pleasure takes over and his muscles grow weak.

Your legs burn with fatigue, grateful that you’ve finally stopped moving.  You rest your cheek against the top of Bucky’s head, releasing a shaky breath.  Your body thrums with a mixture of pleasured energy and lethargic gratification.  “What’s your status?” you ask, panting for breath.

It takes him a second to respond, also trying to recover his breath.  “I’m good,” he finally tells you.  “I’m back.”  He slowly pulls his head back, causing you to lift yours.

His gaze rises to meet yours.  Your eyes widen, seeing that the sparkle is back in his eyes.  “Bucky?”

His lips curl up into a soft smile, “You did it, Krasavitsa.”

“It worked!” you cry out joyfully, throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder.

He chuckles lightly, arms tightening against your back once more.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“A little tired,” he admits. “The transition usually takes a lot out of me.”

You sit up once more, your hands moving to gently grip his shoulders.  “Then we should clean up, so you can rest.”  You push a damp strand of hair out of his face, giving him a tender smile.

He nods in agreement, slowly loosening his arms from around your body.  You carefully separate from each other, moving to the edge of the bed before making your way to the bathroom.  You grab a few wash cloths, one for yourself and one for Bucky. Running them under warm water, you wring them out before handing Bucky his.

“Buck?” you ask as the two of you clean yourselves up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember what you said to me?  Before we had sex?” you ask, his earlier words ringing in your ears.

Bucky pauses, taking a moment to think about it before he shakes his head.  “No, it’ll probably be a while before my memory comes back. Why?  What did I say?”

You bite your lip, glancing away from him, “It’s probably nothing.”

He steps up to you, his hand gently resting against your lower back.  “You sure?”

You force a smile onto your lips.  “Yes. I’m sure.  You should rest, Krasavchik,” you tell him in hopes to distract him.

It seems to work, because he nods and drops his hand.  He follows you back out into your room, bending down to pull his pants off the floor.

“Bucky, you did exercise in those,” you tell him.

He looks down at the pants before lifting his gaze to yours with a raised eyebrow.  “You got a better option?”

You roll your eyes and smile.  “Lay down. I’ll go get you something clean from your room,” you tell him, moving to your dresser to pull on some clothes.

“Alright,” he shrugs, tossing the pants into your laundry hamper before crawling into your bed.

You leave as he’s pulling the blankets up his chest.  As soon as you’re alone, though, your mind begins to race.  What could he have meant?  He said that he was going to hurt you.  That he would only bring you pain.  It almost sounded like he was trying to warn you.  But from what?

You try to shake away the ominous feeling inside you.  You were supposed to be happy.  You’d just broken Bucky out of his triggers.

Your hand curls around the handle to Bucky’s bedroom door.  But then you pause.  You’d just used  _sex_  to break Bucky out of his triggers.  And the Soldat had warned you about something right before the two of you had had sex.

Was it possible?  Did the Soldat  _know_  that sex was going to break him out of it?

You shake those thoughts away, turning the knob and entering the room.  There’s no way he could have known.  Bucky would have told you.  You grab a new pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt before making your way back to your room.

But what if Bucky’s hadn’t known?  Is it possible for the Soldat to have knowledge of something that Bucky doesn’t? But even if the Soldat did know… why would he think it would hurt you?  Breaking him out was a good thing, of course you were happy to have discovered this.  Unless…

What if… this whole time… he’s been using you?  Bucky’s whole being was built on resisting his triggers.  Any opportunity he found, he would have taken it.  Sex had the ability to override his brain with enough activity that anything repressed by his triggers would become activated again.

It makes sense.  It would explain why he kept coming back to you. Why he would risk sneaking into your room even when he had orders not to.  Why he was able to resist your brother’s orders, moments after the two of you had been intimate.

He had told you that he had been selfish.  Those were words straight from the Soldat’s mouth.  He must have figured out that sex made him resistant to his orders.  And he’d been using that tactic ever since.  

How long did it take him to figure out?  You’d spent months together in Siberia.  And had a lot of sex in that time span.  What if he’d figured this out after your first time together?  What if he’s been using you from the very beginning?

Did that mean he didn’t even love you?  It’s entirely possible that he could have confused his feelings and only thought it was love.  You were the ticket to his freedom.  Of course, he would get attached.  But that didn’t mean he loved you.

You were nothing but a tool. A key to breaking his shackles.

What if it was just another tactic?  Pretend to be in love with you, so you’d be more inclined to stick around.  Make you fall in love with him, so you’d do anything he asked.  Give him anything he wanted.  What if this is what he was trying to warn you about?  Of the things he’s done.  Of the steps he was willing to take for his freedom.  And you’d fallen into his trap. Like a love-sick fool.

Bucky is fast asleep on your bed when you walk into your room.  You set his clothes down on the foot of the bed and watch him sleep.  He looks so innocent and harmless.  There’s no way that Bucky remembered what the Soldat did.  It wasn’t in him to be so cruel.  But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You realize that it’s become too difficult to breathe.  Your skin begins to itch and crawl as standing still becomes too much.  You turn around and head for the door, once again.  You spare Bucky one last look, your heart experiencing a different kind of hurt as you look upon his sleeping features.

Your hand clenches around the handle of the door, pulling strength from the solidness of it to turn your gaze away and leave.  You roam the halls of the compound, not entirely sure what to do with yourself. You eventually come across a set of stairs, taking them all the way up until you reach a door that leads to the roof.

You take in gasping breaths of fresh air, willing it to calm you down.  Moving to the corner of the roof top, you sit with your back to the cement railing.  You sit with bent knees, your arms wrapped around them and your forehead resting on top, curling yourself into a ball.  You can’t stop your body from shaking as the tears build in your eyes and begin to fall.

As a member of Hydra, you were accustomed to being used by others.  It was part of the job.  It was just business.  But  _this_ …  This felt like a  _betrayal_.  Not even the things your brother did to you hurt this much.

The last time you’d ever felt such raw pain was when you’d watched Natasha’s parents die in front of you. But somehow, this felt worse. This felt like a thousand knives, piercing your body from all directions, keeping you from being able to do anything but feel the pain.

A tiny part deep in the back of your mind was trying to tell you to think rationally about this.  To remember that Bucky probably didn’t do this knowingly.  But the pain from having  _him_  use you, of all people, was too fresh.  It was all consuming.

You don’t know how long you stay there, tucked away in the alcove you’ve created for yourself.  It could have been minutes.  It felt like hours.  You’ve stopped crying by the time you hear the door for rooftop access opening. You hear footsteps approaching, not lifting your head until the person is just about in front of you.

The person standing there is the last one you would have expected.  Her fiery hair falls around her face in loose waves, the red illuminated under the Wakandan sun.  She does nothing for a long moment, just stands before you, her calculating gaze observing you.  She reads you in ways quite similar to how the Soldat used to.

You are the first to break the silence, “If you are planning to kill me, you might as well do it now. I am not in the mood to stop you.”

Her expression remains unchanged, neither hostile or sympathetic, only neutral.  “Steve told me what happened.”  You stare at her a moment, many things have happened over the last few hours, you’re not sure what she’s talking about.  “With my parents,” she clarifies.

Your lips draw into a frown as you look up at her regretfully.  “I am  _so_  sorry for that, Natalia.  If I had known what was going to happen, I  _never_  would have asked for your father’s help. I can’t even  _begin_  to apologize for what you must have gone through, because of me.”

Nat’s gaze drops moments before she sighs.  She moves to take a seat next to you, mimicking your posture with her back to the wall and her knees bent.  “What were they like?” she asks, gazing straight ahead, not at you.

You lift your gaze to the sky, watching a couple of fluffy white clouds roll passed.  Thinking about the Romanoffs was painful, but it hurt less than everything else you were feeling, so you welcomed the distraction. “They were some of the nicest people I had ever met.  I had walked away from a mission that I couldn’t follow through with.  I didn’t know what would happen to me if I returned without completing it, so I thought it would be better to not return at all. Your father found me walking the streets of Stalingrad.  I hadn’t eaten in three days, I was weak… tired…  He took me to his home.  Your mother cooked me one of the best meals I’d ever had.  I told them that I was running from my abusive husband.  I couldn’t tell them the truth, though sometimes I wish I had.  They probably would have turned me away, but at least they’d still be alive.  They offered to buy me a train ticket, to help me get away.  I’d never met someone so eager to help a complete stranger.”

Nat takes a moment to absorb this information, lifting her gaze to watch the clouds, too.  “Did they seem happy?”

“Yes,” you tell her honestly.  “And very much in love.  They both loved you, too.  They died trying to protect you.  Vasily told them that if they killed each other, he would spare your life.  But sending you to the Red Room… that’s a fate worse than death.”

Her gaze drops to her clasped hands, her arms wrapped around her knees.  “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.  Sure, growing up in the Red Room was no easy feat, but I survived.  I got through it, and then I left.  The Avengers… they made everything worth it. They became my new family.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up, “Wanda said that Steve has a habit of collecting strays.”

She nods, “He does. People gravitate to him.  He’s a natural leader.  I just wish I had been better at keeping the rest of us together.”

You drop your gaze as well. “Bucky told me about what happened with Tony Stark.”

Nat sighs, “I must be cursed.  To lose one family and then have the next crumble before my eyes…”

You release a shaky breath. “I fear I might be tearing apart what’s left.”

Nat shakes her head turning to look at you.  “Steve… he’s protective of Bucky.  Just give him time.”

“It’s not that,” you mutter quietly, watching your fingers fidget with each other.

“There’s  _another_  reason you’ve holed yourself up here for three hours?”

You look at her in surprise. “Three hours?”

She nods in confirmation. “Bucky’s down there looking for you. I heard that you managed to break him out of the Winter Soldier state.  Shouldn’t you be happy?”

You wince, pulling your gaze from hers once more.  “I would be… if only it didn’t mean that the Winter Soldier has been using me for sex in order to break from his triggers.”

“He what?”

“I don’t know how conscious he was of it, but I think he somehow managed to figure it out.  It would explain why he kept coming back. He knew from the beginning that I had been assigned to seduce him, to lure him deeper into Hydra’s clutches. And I could understand it if he had given in just the first time.  To have gone so long without any form of human companionship or warmth, and then to be offered it on a silver platter… anyone would take that chance.  But to go back?  Even knowing the risks…”

The tears are welling up once more, though you try to fight it.  You don’t want to cry any more.  “He didn’t do it for me.  He did it for his freedom.  And what’s worse?  He managed to trick me  _and_  himself into thinking it was for love.  When all that he was really doing, was using me.  I was a means to an end.  I was  _nothing_.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Natasha tries to comfort you.

You look up at her, tears in your eyes and lips trembling.  “I loved him.  I would have  _died_  for him.  And he was using me, the whole time…”


	8. Stradaniye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Страдание : Stradaniye : Pain, Suffering

Bucky walks into the kitchen, a mildly concerned look on his face.  Steve and Sam are both sitting at the island.  “Still haven’t found her?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “Nobody saw her leave the compound, so she has to be here somewhere…”

“Barnes.”  Bucky turns to the kitchen entrance as Natasha steps through.  Her posture is stiff, eyes hard.  She means business.  “Did you know beforehand what would break your triggers?” she asks directly.

His brow furrows in confusion.  “What? No, of course not.”

“Is there a chance that the Winter Soldier could have known, even if you didn’t?”

Bucky stares at her for a long moment, his mind pondering her words.  “I… don’t really know.  Nat, where is this coming from?”

“I just finished talking with Y/N.”

That gets Bucky attention. “Where is she?” he asks abruptly, stepping to the door.

Nat shifts positions to block his path.  “She doesn’t want to see you right now.”

Bucky frowns, “Why?”

“Nat, what’s going on?” Sam asks, slowly standing from his stool.

Natasha’s gaze washes over the three men, before she sighs.  “Y/N is under the impression that the Soldier knew sex would break his triggers. Because he’d been using her for it back in Siberia.”

“What?  That’s not true!” Bucky states adamantly.

“Are you  _sure_?  Because you’d warned her right before.  You told her that you would only bring her pain.  Because you knew that if she found out you were using her, it would break her.”

Bucky stares at Nat in shock.  He still doesn’t really remember what happened, what he’d said.  But surely he must have meant something else…  “Where is she?”  He takes another step forward, growing frustrated when Nat remains silent. “Damn it, Natasha.  Where is she?!”

He brushes passed her, knowing she can’t really do anything to stop him.  “Y/N?!” he calls out, moving quickly down the hall.  He pushes open each door, checking each room before moving to the next.  He makes it down to your room, however, after he pushes the door open, a red barrier fills the doorway, blocking him from entering.

He breathes out an annoyed huff.  “Wanda, let me in.”

The young witch appears on the other side of the barrier, hands twirling with red energy at her sides. “Bucky, you need to leave.”

“No.  Put down the barrier.”

“She needs time.”

“Fuck time.  We spent twenty years apart!”

Wanda stands her ground.

Bucky sighs, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.  His hands grip the doorway, his head falling forward.  “Y/N?” he calls, knowing you can hear him.  “Krasavitsa, please.  I just want to talk.”

It’s silent for a long moment.  Bucky begins to believe that you really don’t want to see him, when he hears your voice. “It’s alright, Wanda.”

“Are you sure?” she asks you, keeping her eyes on Bucky.

“Yes.  Let him in.”

As soon as the barrier disappears, Bucky is through the door.  His body stiffens when he sees you sitting on the bed, a blanket around your shoulders.  Your eyes are swollen and glassy, a clear sign you’ve been crying.  “Krasavitsa, what’s wrong?” he asks, moving to the bed and sitting down.

You shy away from him when he reaches a hand out.  “Bucky, please.  I let you in so we could talk.  But if you touch me, I don’t know if I can handle it.”

Bucky feels hurt by your words, but pulls his hand back.  “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“How much of the Soldat is still in you when you’re you?” you ask him.

He frowns, “I don’t think I understand…”

“Is it possible for him to know things, remember things that you don’t?  That those thoughts are only recovered when you’re him?”

Bucky thinks it over for a moment.  “I don’t know… Maybe?  Krasavitsa, what did I say to you?”

You can’t meet his gaze, staring down at the comforter of your bed.  “You told me that I was the woman that gave you everything…  It sounded kind of nice at first.  Before I realized that what you meant by ‘everything’ was actually your freedom.”

He still looks lost and you know you have to spell it out for him.  You don’t want to.  Confronting him about it means possibly getting a confirmation of your worst fears.

“You used me, Bucky,” you tell him.  “Used me for sex… so you could break the triggers.”  You curl further into your blanket.

Bucky shakes his head, “No. That’s not-  That’s not what happened, I’d never do that.”

You slowly lift your gaze up to his, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.  “But what about the Soldat?  Is that something  _he_ would do?”

Bucky hesitates in responding.  He feels like he’s missing something still.  He doesn’t understand why you’re acting like this.  Asking these questions.

You continue to speak. “They had you under their control for so long… You would have done  _anything_  to break away.  It wouldn’t have mattered to the Soldat who he hurt, as long as he was free.”

“No,” Bucky denies firmly, beginning to understand where you’re coming from.  “I was with you because I  _wanted_ to be, because I liked you.  You made me feel things I didn’t even know I  _could_  feel.”

“Because we were having sex!” you exclaim.  “It was breaking your triggers.  Allowing you to feel.  But that doesn’t necessarily mean those feeling were for  _me_.”

“What the hell else would they be for?”

“Your freedom.  The fact you were able to do things without being told to do so.  You were regaining the ability to choose.  You  _chose_  to spend those night with me. You chose to sneak into my room. You defied the orders given to you by my brother to see me, because you were  _free_.  You didn’t fall in love with me.  You fell in love with your freedom.”

Bucky shoots to his feet and begins pacing in front of you, his mind racing from your words.  “That’s not fair.  You don’t get to tell me what I am feeling or what I felt back then. They’re  _my_  feelings, Y/N.  And I thought I made myself pretty clear two nights ago.  I  _showed_  you how I felt about you.”

You watch him pace, your eyes moving back and forth as you sigh in exasperation.  “You showed me through sex, though.  That’s all this relationship is.”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair in frustration.  “How can I prove it to you then?  What do you want me to do then?” he asks harshly.

You shake your head, your shoulders dropping.  “I don’t know.”

“Because I’m  _not_  confused.  It’s not just some sick, twisted form of gratitude.  I don’t fucking care about my freedom.  I care about you.  I fucking love you!”

Every single muscle in your body tenses up as you look at him wide eyed.  Bucky tenses too after he realizes what he’s just said.  The anger and frustration disappears in an instant as he looks at you with a worried gaze.

“Y/N… Krasavitsa.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean-”

“Go.” You urge.  You’re trying to fight it, but it’s a losing battle. Your hands clench around the blanket, knuckles going white.  A splitting headache forms between your eyes the more you try to resist.  “Go now!”

Bucky darts out of the room, your pained screams filling his ears as you try to give him as much head start as you can.

* * *

When you come to, you’re in one of the medical rooms, resting on a bed.  You blink to adjust your eyes to the light.  Based on the slight throbbing in your skull, you know that they had to knock you out again.  Turning your head to the side, you find Natasha and Wanda sitting on the couch placed against the back wall.  Natasha is scrolling through her tablet and Wanda has a laptop propped on her bent knees, headphones in her ears.

They both look over when you move to sit up.  You groan quietly, raising a hand to cradle your head.  The two women set their devices down and walk over to you.

“Did I hurt anyone?” you ask first.

“No,” Wanda informs you. “Steve got to you before you could get to Bucky.”

You sigh in semi-relief. “Where  _is_  Bucky?”

Nat crosses her arms over her chest, “Sulking in his room.”

You frown.  “He is upset that he triggered me,” you surmise.

Nat nods, “Among other things.”

Wanda takes another step closer to your bed.  “He told us what you both discussed.  And he explained his side of things.  I don’t think you are completely accurate in some of the conclusions you came to.  The soldier  _did_  care for you.  He wouldn’t be worried about hurting you if he didn’t care.”

You move to sit on the edge of the bed, your feet dangling down.  Your fingers curl into the edge of the mattress, using it to keep you grounded. “Even if he developed feelings for me along the way, that doesn’t change the fact that he used me.”

“How sure are you that he  _did_?” Nat asks.

You shrug a shoulder, glancing at the floor.  “I don’t know.  I just don’t understand why he would say the things he did if that’s not what he meant.”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Wanda suggests.

You look up at her, wondering if she’s serious.

Nat slowly nods in agreement.  “And while he’s triggered, he can’t lie to you,” she points out.

You narrow your gaze slightly at the two of them.  “Why are you both helping me?” you ask in confusion.

“We may have gone through different things,” Wanda starts.  “But Hydra has played a heavy roll in each of our lives.  We have a greater understanding of what you are going through than the others do.”

It’s not difficult to gather her meaning. “Your powers,” you conclude.

She nods.  “Hydra had taken control of my entire country, spreading lies and fear.  They used Stark weaponry on our homes to make us hate the Avengers.  My brother and I joined a program after we lost everything. We were the only ones to survive the experiments.  We later learned the truth behind Hydra and the Avengers, however, we learned it a little too late.  And as a result of our actions, my brother is now dead.”

You empathize with her. Hydra certainly knew how to manipulate people.  It was so easy to fall into their traps.  When you glance at Natasha, the corner for her lip twitches up.

“You already know my backstory.  And besides, us girls need to stick together.  God knows there’s too much testosterone walking around this building.”

You scoff out a laugh, giving them a timid smile.  “Well, thank you.  As you can imagine, there weren’t many people in Siberia looking for a friend.  I’m glad to have met you both.”  You move to stand on your feet.  Your legs are a little shaky, but you can manage.

“So what do you say we grab Barnes for a little interrogation?” Nat asks with a smirk.

You think about it a moment before shaking your head.  “I think I would rather wait on that.  I’m not sure I have the mental capacity for it.”

“Then what  _would_  you like to do?” Wanda asks you.

Now that’s an easy question to answer.  “I’d like to figure out how to get these damn triggers out of my head.”

* * *

They take you back to the room with your brother’s notebook.  You teach them both how to read the encrypted text, Nat understanding it more than Wanda.  You work together for a few hours, decoding the book and trying to figure out your brother’s meaning behind some of the references he makes.

Sam comes in to check on you all, bringing food after you’d missed dinner.  You know that he wants to talk to you about Bucky, but at the same time he can tell it’s not a subject you want to broach at the moment.

“It seems like there’s still some information missing.  Does he have a second notebook, maybe?” you ask.

“T’challa sent some of his people to recover what they could from Karpov’s house in Cleveland. Everything that they found there is here.”  Natasha gestures to the various files and books spread across the desk.

You sigh quietly.  “What about that Zemo man?  Has anyone questioned him?  Seen if he knows anything else?”

“None of us can get to him,” Wanda tells you.

“He’s being held by the CIA at the Joint Counter Terrorism Centre in Berlin.  And all of us are wanted criminals,” Nat tells you.

You stare at her a moment. “I’m not,” you respond.

The two women look at you in surprise.  “You would go there to question him yourself?” Nat asks.

You shrug a shoulder, “If it will get us more information.”

“You do realize this is the man that killed your brother, right?” Wanda questions.

You give her a blank look. “Is that supposed to make me fear him?”

Nat breathes a slow breath. “This man is the only person to have successfully dismantled the Avengers.  He’s smart, cunning and ruthless.  He’s dangerous,” she tries to tell you.

“I understand that. But we can’t leave any stoned unturned. If there is a chance we can learn something from him, we need to take it.”

“If visiting Zemo is truly what you want, perhaps I can help.”  A velvety voice draws your attention to the door.  A finely dressed, dark skinned man walks into the room. You watch him in curiosity as he moves closer.  “I apologize for my absence these last few days.  I’m still learning how to juggle my various duties.”  He reaches a hand out for you to shake.  “It is nice to finally meet you.  I am T’challa.”

* * *

You step out of the high-tech jet and onto the helicopter landing pad.  You have to steady yourself on the needle point stilettoes you’ve been provided with, adjusting your business suit accordingly.  You’d been tasked with posing as T’challa’s secretary, a tablet curled in your arm.  One of the Dora Milaje steps out next, with much more poise and grace than you.

T’challa steps out last and heads for the stairs leading off the pad, the two of you following closely behind.

A middle-aged man awaits your entrance into the building.  “King T’challa, I must admit, I was a little surprised to hear you were coming.  Have you finally decided to bring me my prisoners?”

T’challa smiles cryptically, “I’ve already told you, Everett, I do not know what happened to Barnes and Rogers as Zemo had been my main priority.”

“I guess it’s just a convenience that there is no extradition in Wakanda and you were the last person to see them?” the man questions skeptically.

“If you have grounds to arrest me, please, show me the evidence.  If you do not, I have matters to discuss with the man who killed my father,” T’challa speaks in all seriousness.

The man seems hesitant to respond, wanting to push the subject further.  “Yes of course,” he relents.

T’challa then turns to you. “This is Everett Ross.  The deputy Task Force Commander.  Commander Ross, this is my secretary, Maggie Grant.  She will also be joining me for my interrogation.”

That makes Ross hesitate even longer.  “After she’s been cleared, yes, I think we can arrange that.”

“She has my trust. That is more than enough clearance you need,” T’challa states, leaving no room for argument.  He steps passed Ross, moving further into the building.

Ross sighs loudly, following after him.  He grabs a guard along the way.  “Please escort the group to Sub-Level 5, Deck 36,” he instructs, before departing elsewhere in the building.

The guard leads the three of you to an elevator and takes you to the detention level.  He flashes his security card to the other guards down there.  Two of them turn to separate keypads on either side of the door, swiping their own cards and entering a code.

T’challa turns to his Dora, “Bukela ucango.”   _Watch the door_.

She nods once, stepping into the path of the doorway after you’ve entered to keep the guards from following.

The door shuts itself as soon as you both are through.  “They will be listening,” you warn quietly.

T’challa sends you a smirk. “No, they will not.”  He presses a bead on his bracelet, disabling the cameras in the room.

The two of you walk up to the glass box, the man inside lifting his gaze.  “Your highness, what a pleasant surprise,” the man greets mockingly. His eyes shift to you, taking a moment to analyze you before a look of realization dawns his features.  “I see Karpov’s contingency plan has been activated.”

You cross your arms over your chest, taking a firm stance before him.  “You know me,” you respond, more as a fact than a question.

“Yes,” he confirms.  “Your information came up as I was researching your brother.”  His lips curl up into a cruel smile.  “The Winter Soldier’s whore.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral.

Zemo gives you another once over.  “I considered waking you up myself.  As a way to draw Mr. Barnes out of hiding.  But I wasn’t sure how strong your bond was with each other.  If it would be enough.  After all, you were just a warm body to him.  Weren’t you?  You were so desperate for love, you made yourself believe a cold-blooded monster could actually love you back.”

“That is not what we are here to discuss,” T’challa cuts in, noticing the way you’ve tensed.

Zemo grins.  “I apologize,” he states without sincerity. “How may I help you both?”

You take a step forward. “In your research of my brother, did you learn of anywhere else he would have stashed notes or information?”

“Information on what?”

You hesitate in answering. “On anything.”

He seems to understand you easily enough.  “You want to know how to remove the triggers.  Now are you asking about Barnes’ triggers… or yours?”  He smirks mockingly when he sees the shock on your face. “Oh this is much more interesting. You’ve been with Barnes.  And he’s activated you.  Not only did he manage to fool you, but he’s fooled himself into thinking it was love.”  He chuckles without humor.  “This is working wonderfully in my favor.  Tell me,” he sits a little more forward in his seat.  “How much of a wedge have you put between the Captain and the Soldier?  I didn’t think they could break any more apart.  I’m glad to see that I was wrong.”

You don’t understand how he can read you so openly.  Natasha had tried to warn you.  You should have listened.  You do your best to school your features, but his words sting with their accuracy.  “What information do you have?”

He leans back in his seat. “Even if I did know something, why would I tell you?”

T’challa steps forward. “You went after the Avengers because their actions resulted in the death of your family.  If the Winter Soldier can become controlled by the wrong hands once again, imagine how many more innocent people will die.  How many more families shattered?”

Zemo scoffs like he doesn’t care, shifting in his seat.  “I was not interested in deactivating Barnes, therefore I know nothing that can help you. I do however, recall seeing something about a comparison between how they implanted the trigger into you. Your activation is different in many ways.  You already have an assigned mission, whereas the Soldier has to be given one.  From what I gathered, your triggers would become deactivated after you’ve completed your mission.”

You glare daggers at him. “That does not help us.”  Of course killing Bucky would stop your trigger from being effective.  If he was dead, he wouldn’t be around to say the words to activate them.  You turn to T’challa with an annoyed huff.  “We are wasting our time.”  You turn on your heels and head for the door.

“Would you not care to hear about your brother’s death?” Zemo calls after you.  “It was not swift.  Probably resulted in a lot of pain.  He died a man of Hydra.  Hung onto his pride until his last moments.”

You scowl at him as you wait for T’challa to open the door.  “Burn in hell, you sick bastard.”

Everett Ross is waiting for you on the other side of the door.  “You’ve just comprised the integrity of this facility.”

T’challa steps in front of you.  “The prisoner is still in his cage and there was no way for him to escape.  I compromised nothing, I just needed privacy. Thank you for your time, Commander Ross.”  He walks passed him once more, confident in knowing the man has no grounds to really keep him there.

You follow after, the Dora Milage joining the two of you.

“Are you alright?” T’challa asks you quietly, noting that you appear a little shaken.

“Not exactly.  But I’m glad we at least tried.  We now know for sure that this was a dead end.”

Everett Ross watches the three of you leave before turning and entering the prisoner’s room.  “What did they want to talk to you about?” he asks firmly.

Zemo gives him that condescending smirk that seems to always be on his face.  “You have no idea who you’ve just allowed to walk out of this building.”


	9. Proshcheniye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Прощение : Proshcheniye : Forgiveness

Back in Wakanda, you go straight to your room to get out of your ridiculous business suit and heels. You decide taking a shower is probably in order too.  T’Challa’s high functioning jet had the ability to cut the travel time from Wakanda to Berlin in half, but it was still 4 hours to get there and another 4 to get back.

You’d been gone all day, so after your shower, you listen to the growls of your stomach and choose to set out for the kitchen.  However, as you open your door and step out into the hall, movement catches your eyes. Bucky is stepping out of his room as well.  You both stare at each other like deer caught in headlights, the silence expanding awkwardly between you.

“Hi,” you finally speak, nearly wincing as you do.   _Hi_?!?  Is that all you can say?

“Hi,” he responds, his voice a little hoarse.  He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.  “How was Berlin?”

Your gaze drops to your feet.  “ _Awful_.”

Bucky frowns in concern, taking a tentative step toward you.  “What happened?”

You wrap your arms around yourself in comfort.  The conversation between you and Zemo rings in your ears.  “Somehow he was able to see right through me.  I don’t know what I did to give it away… but it was like he  _knew_  ever little insecurity I had… and he brought it out.  And…” You couldn’t get your mind off the interaction you’d had with Zemo the whole plane ride back.  And now that you were talking about it aloud, you couldn’t seem to stop.  “He asked me how much of a wedge I’ve put between you and Steve… and it made me realize how much of a burden I’ve been.  I’ve caused nothing but pain and trouble for all of you.  You never should have woken me up!  You should have left me in that pod to die.  I don’t deserve this life.  I don’t deserve you.  I-”

“Hey,” Bucky cuts you off, taking those last few steps to reach you.  “You are  _not_  a burden.”  His hands cradle your cheeks and you don’t realize you’ve begun crying until his thumbs are wiping away your tears.  “After the things we’ve been through, the transition into a more normal life is not easy.  But you  _can’t_  give up.  Nothing is going to be perfect.  You’ll get into arguments, there will be times of confusion and miscommunication, but those are all just normal parts of life.  A life that you  _do_  deserve.”  He looks deeply into your eyes, his gaze going soft.  “Even if you and I aren’t in that great of a place right now, I don’t regret waking you up.”

Your hands reach out for him, your fingers curling into his shirt.  “Bucky, I’m so sorry for being so difficult, I just…”  You don’t really know how to put your feelings into words, you’re feeling so many of them.

“Nat said that you might want to talk to the Soldat.  Get his side of things.”

Your gaze drops, watching your fingers clench around the fabric of his shirt.  “I do, but… I’m  _terrified_  of what he might say.”

“Y/N…” Bucky calls quietly to get you to look back up at him.  He has that crease between his brows, his eyes revealing his vulnerabilities. “Even if we do find out that he did those things…  Do you think… Is there even a  _chance_  you could find it in yourself to forgive me?” His gaze washes over your face. “I just… I already lost you once, Krasavitsa.  And I  _promise_ , I will do whatever it takes to get him out of my head so he never hurts you again.”

His words are sincere and it makes your heart melt.  It makes you realize how different Bucky is from what Hydra made him to be.  You wonder how its even possible that he and the Soldat are the same person.  Though, maybe it’s enough to give you hope that the Soldat didn’t,  _couldn’t_  actually treat you the way you think he did. Not if this Bucky was still in him. “I will try,” you tell him honestly.

You notice his gaze drop to your lips, but instead of leaning in like you want him to, he pulls back, his hands leaving your face.  “Where were you headed just now?” he asks, your hands falling from his chest as he steps back.

“The kitchen.”

“Mind if I join you?”

You give him a small smile. “Of course not.”

Silence falls between the two of you, but it’s not nearly as awkward as it had been moments before. There’s left overs in the fridge, which the two of you heat up.  Sitting at the island, you converse over your dinner, talking about anything but the plans to question the Soldat, in an effort to keep your minds off of it.

However, you can only go so long before your plates are cleared and conversation comes to a stop.

“Do you want to do it now?” Bucky asks you, the question weighing heavily in the air.

You bite your bottom lip in anticipation as you nod your head.  The two of you walk in silence once more, the tension beginning to mount. You enter the room with your brother’s book, Bucky closing and locking the door to give you both privacy.

You walk to the desk with the intention of grabbing the book, when you notice a metal briefcase sitting on the edge of the desk that hadn’t been there before.  You look at it curiously.  Bucky stands next to you, reaching for the case and flipping the latches to open it.  A series of syringes filled with a clear liquid lay inside.

“I had some of the doctors make these while you were gone,” Bucky begins to explain.  “They’re filled with the same neurochemicals that are released in the brain during climax.  We didn’t exactly test it, but if you were to inject me with one of these, it should in theory, re-activate my brain after I’ve been triggered.”

You lift your gaze to his, confused as to why he would have these made.

He keeps his eyes locked on the open case, but he can feel your gaze on him.  “After our last conversation…  It seemed like sex was part of the problem.  I didn’t want you to have to feel obligated to do it, if I were to get triggered again.  And now, we have this as an option too.”  He tentatively glances at you, trying to read your expression.

You’re honestly a little shocked that he would plan for this.  You hadn’t really thought that far ahead.  He’s was thinking about you, even though the thought of making these probably killed him.  You give him a small smile, your hand reaching out to carefully shut the case. “Thank you, for doing this.  But maybe we won’t need them.”

The hope that blooms in his eyes makes your heart skip.  He nods, reaching for the red book and handing it to you.  You cradle it in your palms, opening it to the page you need as Bucky moves to grab two chairs from behind the desk.

He sets them down so they’re facing each other before he takes a seat in one, releasing a slow breath to steady himself.

“Ready?” You ask quietly, walking behind him.

“Da,” he speaks.   _Yes_.

“Zhelaniye,” you read the words from the book, slowly walking around him with each word until you come to his front. “Soldat?”

“Ya gotov otvechat’,” he responds without fail.

He sits patiently awaiting your orders as you move to set the book down on the desk before taking the seat in front of him.  “I have some questions for you.  And I need you to answer them honestly.”

“Da, Komandir,” he obliges, keeping his gaze forward.

You realize that the triggers must be stronger when he’s first become activated.  “Krasavchik,” you call softly.  That gets him to shift his gaze to meet yours.  “What am I to you?”

He stares for a small moment.  “Moy komandir,” he finally responds.   _My commander_.

You sigh quietly. Leaning forward, you rest a hand on his knee.  “No, Krasvachik.  What am I to  _you_?”

He’s quiet for a longer moment, his eyes holding yours for some time before they begin to roam over your face.  “Moya Krasavitsa,” he speaks softly.

You smile sweetly as you give his knee a light squeeze.  “Da,” you breathe.  Your hand soon retreats back to your lap as you sit back in your seat.  Your smile lessens when you realize you now have to start asking him the real questions.  “Krasavchik… do you remember the things you said to me a few days ago?”

His gaze drops, hands clenching where they rest at the top of his thighs.  “Da,” he admits.

“What did you mean?”

He winces at the question. “I didn’t know…  Not at first.” He tells you, knowing that you’ll understand his meaning.  He goes silent once more as he tries to figure out how to say what he wants to tell you.  “Do you remember the mission in London?”

Your brow furrows, a small frown gracing your lips.  “When we stopped that SHIELD agent from meeting with MI6 representatives.”

He nods, his gaze carefully meeting yours.  “That’s when I first knew.”

You release a slow breath. “Knew what?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you already know the answer.

“That they no longer had a hold over me,” he confirms.

You play your memories of that mission back in your head.  It had been a month after your first mission together, a month of nights tangled around each other.  Karpov had wanted to send the other Soldiers, but they were still acting erratic, so he sent you and Bucky instead.  You were meant to act as his handler, make sure he completed the mission and continue with your own ‘mission’ of making sure he had a reason to come back.

You can picture the memory clearly.  The two of you on the roof of a building across the street from where the agent was staying.  You’d been observing him for a whole week, trying to find a pattern in his actions. You’d discovered that every morning, precisely at 7:05, he’d open the curtains to his room to check the weather, before closing them again to dress accordingly and go about his business.

The Soldat had his sniper rifle set up, his body stiff, waiting in anticipation.  You were crouched next to him, binoculars to your eyes as you looked for signs of movement in other parts of the building. Evidence that someone might see what you were about to do.  

“I remember…” you speak as you’re pulled out of the memory.  “You hesitated.”

The Soldat observes you closely.  “Because I realized that I didn’t  _have to_  pull the trigger.”

You hold his gaze, your head tilting to the side.  “And yet, you took the shot anyway… Why?”

“To protect you.”

That catches you off guard. “Me?”

“If your brother learned that I was no longer compliant because of what we were doing together… He would have killed you in an instant.”

Your heart begins to pound in your chest as you begin to realize his meaning.

His eyes soften.  “I remember watching you that night, while you slept in my arms.  I began to piece together what was happening.  I realized I couldn’t let them hurt you.  That I would do  _anything_  to keep you safe.  Even if it meant continuing to follow their orders when I didn’t have to.”

“Krasavchik…” you sound breathless, your head spinning from this new revelation.  “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

He gives you a knowing look. “Because you would have done something stupid, like try to run away again.  I know you, Krasavitsa.  You didn’t want to be there as much as I didn’t want to.  If I gave you a reason to leave… you would have taken it and then we’d both be dead.”

You mind races in order to piece all this information together.  “Before… you said that you were being selfish… This doesn’t sound very selfish to me.”

A grimace appears on his lips.  “I was selfish because the only thing I  _couldn’t_  do to keep you safe was to distance myself from you.”  His gaze drops once again, guilt lining his features. “In the end, it was my selfishness that resulted in your pain.”

You realize that it’s not just Bucky that blames himself for how things ended 20 years ago, but the Soldat feels the same.  It makes your heart ache and take flight at the same time.  Because it means that he  _cares_. And it’s proof that he cares about  _you_  not his freedom.

You push yourself out of your seat, taking residence in his lap, your hands framing his cheeks.  He looks up at you in surprise, his hands instinctively moving to your hips.  “It’s not your fault,” you tell him, your eyes getting wet with emotion.  “Karpov is the  _only_  one to blame for our pain.”

He gives you a doubtful look.  “But if I-”

You release a gentle hush, your thumb ghosting over his bottom lip.  “If you had distanced yourself from me, that would have hurt even more.  Especially if I didn’t know why you were doing it.  Hell, for all we know… my brother might have thought I wasn’t trying hard enough with you and he would have killed me anyways.”

He sucks in a harsh breath, his hands tightening around your hips.  He didn’t like the idea of that either.

“We can’t change the past, Krasavchik.”  You get lost in his clear blue gaze, unable to look anywhere else.  “All we can do is forgive ourselves for the mistakes that were made, and move forward.”

His metallic fingers slip under your shirt, his palm moving to your lower back, pressing your body just a little closer to his.  “Could you ever forgive me?” he asks you.

You give him a tender smile, your fingers brushing some of the hair out of his face.  “You have to forgive  _yourself_ , Krasavchik.  Because in my eyes… you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Your lower your face until your lips brush with his.  He wraps his whole arm around your waist, his human fingers curling into the hair at the base of your neck to deepen the kiss.  Your eyes fall shut as you enjoy the gentle pressure of his mouth against yours.

“Do you think  _you_  could ever forgive  _me_?” you ask quietly when you pull back.  “I am so used to being hurt by the ones closest to me… I automatically jumped to the worst conclusions.”

His thumb caresses the back of your neck.  “I’m not your brother.”

“I know.  And I’m  _so_  sorry.”  You can feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

He pulls your face back down, his lips a little firmer this time.  “There is nothing to forgive, Krasavitsa,” he speaks against your lips.

You release a soft sigh, the tension that’s built up from the stress of the past few days begins to melt away.  Tilting your head forward, you rest your forehead against his.  His breath tickles your cheeks as the two of you remain locked together.

A single tear slips from under your lashes and drips onto his cheek.  He pulls back, looking at you with concern.  “What’s wrong?”

You release a wet laugh, wiping beneath your eye to prevent more tears.  “I’m just being emotional.”  You give him a reassuring smile, “I never should have doubted you.”

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his thumb catching another stray tear.  “It’s in the past.  You need to forgive yourself.”

You scoff another laugh, rolling your eyes at him.  “You’re not supposed to use my lines against me.”

His lips twitch up in amusement.  He watches as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm.  “Y/N…” he calls softly.

Your gaze darts up to his in surprise.  This is the first time the Soldat has ever used your name.

His expression is serious, but there’s a lining of tenderness that’s unmistakable.  “Even if I can’t say it… do you understand how I feel about you?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Yes,” you breathe.

His gaze flickers between yours.  “You own me.”

Cradling the back of his hand, you turn your head to place a kiss at the center of his palm.  “You own me, too.”

The content and relaxed look on his face makes butterflies fly in your stomach.  He  _never_ would have allowed someone to see him like that 20 years ago.  And to know that  _you_  were the one to put that look on his face… there aren’t even words that can describe how happy it makes you.

Your knuckles brush against his jaw.  “I guess we should work on switching you back,” you tell him.

He stiffens for a moment before nodding reluctantly.  “Do you wish to grab a syringe?”

And you suddenly understand his hesitation.  You glance briefly at the case that rests on the desk before you shake your head.  “I want to do it  _our_  way.”

He looks shocked by your response.  “Are you sure?”

You laugh lightly, leaning forward to brush your nose against his.  “Yes.”

His hand curls back into your hair, pulling your lips to his once more.  The kiss quickly becomes heated, opened mouthed, shared breaths, tongues tangled.  You tug at his t-shirt, eager to get it off.  As soon as it hits the floor, the Soldat helps to remove yours.  His hands are all over your skin, feeling the difference between his metal and flesh palms.  The sensors just beneath the metallic plates alert him to the presence of your body against his hands, but it’s his right hand that can truly feel the detail of your skin.  How smooth it feels.  How hot it gets when he touches you like this.  The bumps of pleasure that ripple across when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.  Sometimes when he really loses himself in the sensations, he’s able to trick his brain into thinking he feels those things with his left hand, too.

His hands sink down, gripping your ass to push your hips forward.  You moan into his mouth, rocking against his steadily growing erection. He surprises you when he stands abruptly.  Your hands grip his shoulders as he walks forward until your back hits the wall. He watches you with a hooded gaze, taking great pleasure in the pure desire he can see reflected in your eyes.

“You know that I would sooner hurt myself than let any harm come to you,” he tells you.

You nod, “I know.  We need to protect each other, Krasavchik. You are not alone anymore.”

“I know,” he confirms. His eyes search yours, a soft sigh escaping his lips.  “I wish I could say  _it_  to you.”

You smile sadly, running a hand through his hair, your nails scratching soothing at his scalp. “Hopefully one day you will.  But right now… this is enough.”

He leans forward, lips brushing your forehead.  He places a kiss to your temple next, then your cheek, then your jaw…  He works his way down your neck and chest, between the valley of your breasts and down your stomach until he’s crouched in front of you. Your breaths become heavier in anticipation as he begins to pull your pants and underwear off your hips and down your legs.  He’s very meticulous, making sure his hands are touching as much as they can on the way down.

His fingers dig into the back of your calves, moving in slow circles as he makes his way back up. Leaning forward, he dots your thighs with open mouthed kissed, nipping and sucking where he sees fit, constantly switching between the left and the right.  You feel your walls clench the closer he gets to your apex.  You’re wet and ready for him.  However, just when you think he’s going to dive in, he places a chaste kiss just below your belly button before pulling back and standing up.

He smirks teasingly as you gape incredulously at him.  “Something wrong?” he has the gall to ask.

You narrow your gaze, “Why you-  O-Oh!” you cry out when his fingers are suddenly  _there_.  Collecting your slick, he presses two flesh fingers to your aching clit.

“Is this what you wanted, Krasavitsa?” he asks, he voice dropping several octaves.

You release a shaky breath, hands gripping his shoulders.  All you can do is whimper as his fingers move in slow circles.  He watches your pupils dilate and your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your hips jerk against his fingers.  Slipping his hand farther down, he presses one digit to your entrance before pushing inside.  Your eyes lose focus, lips parting once more to gasp quietly.

He curls his finger against your upper wall, causing your eyes to fall shut and your head to tilt back into the wall.  The sight of your exposed neck is too much for him to resist.  His lips glide over the column of your throat.  He feels your pulse beating a steady drum, just beneath the surface of your skin.  He nips a sharp bite just as he slips a second finger into you.

You cry out, hips jerking forward, and walls clenching around him.  It’s not quite enough to push you over, but his actions definitely send a thrill up your spine.  One of your hands cradles the back of his neck, while the other scratches at his back.

He sucks tenderly at the bite, allowing his hot tongue to massage the sting away.  He laps with a similar rhythm as the motion of his fingers inside you.  He can feel your pulse increase, your breaths becoming shallower as you rock a little more desperately against his hand.

“Kra- Oh God!” you moan. The muscles in your thighs tense, your back arching of its own accord.  A thrum of pleasure crawls up your spine, heat flushing throughout your whole body.

Bucky keeps his fingers pressed to the upper wall of your core, working the sensitive area in slow circles.  He buries his face into your neck, letting your scent fill his lungs, your quiet mewls ringing in his ears.

“Krasavchik… please,” you beg, your hands falling to the front of his jeans to loosen his belt.

You feel his smirk against your neck before he lifts his head up.  He pins you with a darkened gaze.  “Have you always been this desperate with your past lovers?  Or is it just me?”

Your chest heaves for breath as you look back through lidded eyes.  “No other man has ever brought me pleasure the way you can,” you tell him honestly.

He releases a low growl of approval, his fingers pressing deeper into you.  “And if I get my way, no other man ever will.”

You groan as his fingers slowly pull out, a shiver racking your whole body.  “Well, that’s already guaranteed.”

His lips curl into a half smile.  “Stroking my ego, are we?”

You huff, finally getting his belt undone.  “If it will get you out of your pants faster…”

He chuckles in amusement, reaching to pop the button and undo the zipper.  “It might.”

You raise an expectant eyebrow at him.  “Then imagine what  _else_  I could be stroking if they weren’t there.”

The humor is gone from his gaze in a flash, replaced with nothing but longing and desire.  He hooks his thumbs into his jeans, pushing them off in one fluid motion.  His cock slaps against his lower abs, straining and ready for attention.  “Stroke as much as you wish, Krasavitsa.”

It’s your turn to smirk, hands reaching out for him.  At the last moment, they curl around his body to grab handfuls of his muscular ass. You give the globes a playful squeeze, molding them in your palms.

The Soldat is thrown off guard at first, before he realizes that this is payback for his earlier actions. He releases a dangerous growl, pushing you back into the wall.  He grips the back of your thighs, lifting you up and guiding your legs around his waist. “Are you sure teasing a man like me is wise?” he questions.

You grin cheekily.  “I like to live dangerously.”

He leans forward, but instead of kissing you, he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, not being very gentle about it either.  He swallows your moans when he aligns with your entrance and begins to press forward. Your body, slick with recent orgasm, accepts him with little resistance.

As soon as he’s pressed to the hilt, he sinks his hips back and surges forward once more.  Your hands are combing through his hair again, tugging at the strands, and curling into fists.  He takes on a brutal pace, driving you further into the wall with each thrust.  The kiss turns into a battle for dominance.  As soon as he releases your lip, you’re biting him back in retaliation.  You hear a rumble of warning from deep within his chest. Your tongues tangle for power and control over the other, getting a taste for the other person with each clash until your flavors become one.

The Soldat’s hands clench around the back of your thighs as he adds a roll of his hips to each thrust. You release a whimpering moan, beginning to yield to him.  He knows how to pit your body against you.  Giving you the pleasure that will make your muscles go lax.  Make your head fuzzy and your will turn to mush.  He digs his pelvic bone into your clit, grinding against you with each bounce.

You needily chase after him when he pulls out of the kiss, but he knows you have to be running low on air. He rests his forehead against you, your panting breaths intermingling.  Without his mouth on you, there’s nothing to obstruct the sounds slipping out of your throat.  It fills the Soldat’s ears, driving him faster, harder.

The heat intensifies between your bodies, your blood turning to molten lava, your skin set ablaze.  “Krasavchik.  Yes,  _yes_ — _Ah!_ ”

Your second orgasm hits you harder than the first.  It’s so good, it makes you ache even more for him.  Your body clenches around him both inside and out.  Your knees tighten around his waist.  Your arms curl around his neck, holding him close as you quake.

He groans from the back of his throat, his eyes squeezing shut as pleasure floods his mind.  His brain activity sky rockets, reaching places that had previously been shut off by the triggers.  Everything is heightened for this one moment, his senses, his emotions and most of all his attachment for you.  This is the one thing that both Soldat and Bucky can agree on.  Their love for you.  This is the one moment that they can share together.  Bringing you ultimate pleasure.  This is the one moment when they aren’t at war with each other.

He spills into you, your bodies shaking and tensing in reaction to each other.  He leans further into the wall when he legs grow weak, but he doesn’t fall.  He keeps your body flush to his, the light sheen of sweat making you both stick together.

When you open your eyes, it’s Bucky that’s staring back at you.  The blue is clouded with residual pleasure, but there’s no mistaking that sparkle in his eyes.  You give him a tired smile as you pant for breath.  “Hi,” you breathe.

He releases a huffed laugh, his lips curling up.  “Hi.” His eyes search yours for answers. “Are we good?” he asks, though considering your current situation, that should probably be answer enough.

You laugh breathlessly, nodding your head.  “Yeah… We’re good.”

He grins in relief, resting his forehead tiredly against yours again.  “Good.”

The two of you hold each other as you wait for your bodies to recover.

“You didn’t use the serum,” Bucky realizes, lifting his head back up to look at you curiously.

You reach your hand out to cradle his cheek.  “The fact that you were thoughtful enough to have it made… it was reason enough for me to  _not_  use it.”

He seems even more perplexed by your answer.  “I don’t think there will ever come a day when I understand what goes through that pretty little head of yours.”

Grinning widely, you pull his face in for another chaste kiss.  “I should hope not.”


	10. Razum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Разум : Razum : Mind

You wake up to the feel of cool, metallic fingers ghosting down your arm.  A slow smile grows on your lips before you groan and bury your face into Bucky’s neck.  You can feel the rumble of his laugh from deep within his chest.  “Good morning Krasavitsa,” he tells you, his voice heavy with sleep.

You moan in protest, shifting against him to get more comfortable.  You feel the brush of his pajama pants against your bare legs, your hand splayed over his naked chest.  His right arm is curled around your waist, his hand tucked under the shirt you wear and resting against your lower back, his thumb swiping gently back and forth.

“I would have let you sleep longer, but I’m getting hungry and you’re kind of on top of me,” you can hear the amusement in his voice.

You groan again, slowly pushing yourself up and blinking your eyes open.  You sit back on your knees, straddling Bucky’s waist.  He takes a moment to admire you as you cover up a yawn.  Your hair falls messily around our face, the collar of his shirt, which you wear, dropping off one shoulder.  There’s a small bruise on your neck, left as a mark from the Soldat’s bite the previous night.  The sight of it makes a different kind of hunger burn deep in Bucky’s belly.

“Food sounds good to me,” you comment, unaware of the shift in Bucky’s thoughts.

You move off of him, shuffling to the edge of the bed.  You walk to his dresser where you placed a folded set of clothes the previous night. You pull on the pair of pants first, lifting up Bucky’s shirt to zip and button them.  When you don’t hear much movement coming from Bucky, you turn to face him with a raised brow.  He’s still in bed, leaning back against the pillows, arms curled up against the back of his head.

“Are you getting up?” you ask with a small smile.

“I’m just enjoying the view,” he mumbles through a lazy grin.

You roll your eyes and shake your head.  Turning your back to him, you pull the shirt off, setting it down on the dresser and moving to put on a bra.  “If you’re not up soon, I’m going to the kitchen without you.”

You hear the soft rustle of the bedsheet, before his warmth incases you from behind.  “Oh, I’m  _up_  alright.”  From the tone of his voice, you’re able to discern his meaning, even before he’s wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed himself to you.

You laugh lightly, feeling his growing length against your ass.  “I thought you were hungry.”

He leans his head down, nudging his nose against your jaw.  “Still am,” his breath fans across your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“For  _food_ , Krasavchik,” you grin widely.  “Get dressed,” you urge, stepping away from him and shrugging into a shirt that’s meant for you.

He huffs quietly, reaching for the shirt you’ve just pulled off.  He slides his arms through the sleeves and pulls it over his head. “There.  I’m dressed,” he grunts.

You smile at his childish behavior, but refrain from laughing for fear of turning the pout on his lips into a frown.  “Let’s go.” You curl your fingers around his, tugging gently on his hand to get him to follow you.

Sam and Steve are already in the kitchen, almost finished with their breakfasts.  “Was wondering when the two of you would make an appearance,” Steve comments over a sip of coffee.

“Are things between the two of you okay now?” Sam asks, though the answer seems pretty obvious.

You nod, your fingers squeezing Bucky’s.  “I talked with the Soldat last night and heard his side of things… We’re okay,” you confirm.

Bucky presses a chaste kiss to your temple before moving to the coffee maker.  Steve glances between the two of you.  “So, if Bucky was the Soldier last night, but he’s not now… does that mean you two…?”

“Yup,” Bucky replies offhandedly, pouring some coffee into a mug.

“Are you both being safe?” Steve questions.

“Steve!”  Bucky pins his friend with an exasperated look.

You feel your cheeks flush, unable to look anyone in the eye.

“What?” Steve continues. “You’ve both kind of been doing that a lot…  I just want to make sure.”

“I have an implant,” you explain.  “My brother wanted to make sure nothing… unexpected happened between myself and Bucky.”

Sam eyes you curiously. “Aren’t those things supposed to get like… changed out every few years?

You tense slightly at the thought.  Even with the constant reminders, it was sometimes still possible to forget that twenty years had passed.  You lift your gaze to Bucky’s, looking at him with concern.

He smiles reassuringly, moving back to your side and handing you a second cup of coffee.  “We can have the doctors check you over.”

You nod, gratefully taking the warm mug.  You join Steve and Sam for breakfast, updating them on what happened with Zemo and a little about what happened with the Soldat.  The two men soon depart for a day of training, leaving you and Bucky to head for the medical wing.

The same doctor that had been there for your initial arrival is the one that waits for you in the med bay. His smile is kind and understanding as you explain the situation.  He takes another blood sample to test your hormone regulation.  He tells you that the tests will need to be done in the lab and will take a few minutes, so he leaves you and Bucky alone.

Bucky’s palm is pressed flush to yours as you look around the small room.  It’s a typical doctor’s office, only with much more advanced equipment. There’s a screen on the wall showing a video of a brain scan.  The brain is a flurry of activity at the start of the video before progressively growing darker, until just a few spots are lit up at the end of the video.  It then cycles back to the beginning and runs again on loop.

Jumping down from the patient’s table, you walk over to the screen, dragging Bucky with you and watching it curiously.  “I wonder whose brain this is…” you comment.

“It’s mine,” Bucky tells you.

You look up at him in surprise.  “Really?” You turn back to watch the video again. “What’s going on?”

“This is what happens to my brain while someone is activating my triggers.”  His lifts his hand to the screen, pointing things out as he explains. “There’s a large amount of activity at first when my brain realizes what’s happening and tries to resist. But with every word, a little piece gets taken away, until all that’s left are the basic functions I need to perform my missions.  Motor control, some critical thinking, and the motivational center are the core of what’s left.  There’s no personality, no emotions, and I can’t even begin to explain what’s going on with my memory.  They said that there’s some kind of shift in the activity of my hippocampus, the part that changes short term memory into long term.  Might explain why the Soldat seems to know more than I do.  Also explains why I don’t always remember what happened when I was triggered.”

You nod in understanding. “Maybe we should see what happens to my brain when I get triggered.”

“No,” Bucky states firmly.

You look up at him in shock. “What?  Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to  _get_  triggered.  The Soldat can be controlled.  We can’t do that with you.  Once you’re on…”

“All the more reason we  _should_ do this.  The more information we can get, the more likely we can find a cure. We already know that my trigger is different, we can’t assume that my brain will look like this.  We need to know what’s going on.  Besides, we have those injections you made.  You guys won’t have to knock me out this time.”

Bucky sighs quietly, “But if yours is so different… what if they don’t work?”

You shrug a shoulder. “We have to try.”

He grimaces, glancing away from you.  “I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

“Krasavchik,” you call softly, placing your palm against his cheek.  “I don’t like it either.  But we can’t give up, just because we’re scared.”

There’s a knock on the door, which causes the two of you to pull apart.  The doctor steps in, picking up on the slightly tense atmosphere of the room.  “Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

“No,” you shake your head, and smile politely.  “How are the results?”

“Your implant seems to still be in working condition.  Your hormones are being regulated at the amount that would signify being on birth control.  If you would like, we could still switch it out for you.”

You take a moment to think it over, before glancing up at Bucky.  He’s looking back and you can tell he doesn’t really want to, but he nods his head once.  The corner of your mouth lifts in an attempt to reassure him before you’re turning back to the doctor.  “Yes, that would probably be best.  But I also have a favor to ask of you.

The doctor looks at you curiously.  “Yes, of course.  What is it?”

“I’d like to have a brain scan.  Like Bucky’s,” you point to the screen on the wall.  “To see what happens when I get triggered.”

He nods briefly.  “I do believe that can be arranged.”

* * *

You release a nervous breath as you lay back on the MRI table.  The nurses are gentle with you, but they still have to strap you down. Once you’re triggered, you’ll become erratic and they don’t want you hurting yourself or the machine.  You’ve been changed into a pair of white cotton pants and a tank top.

“Are you alright, Krasavitsa?”  You hear Bucky’s voice coming from the plastic ear piece on your ear.  He’s watching you from the observation room, just on the other side of the wall.  He wishes he could be in there with you, but with a giant magnet and a metal arm… it wasn’t a good idea.

You tilt your head to the side, meeting his worried gaze and give him a reassuring smile.  The doctor adjusts your head, so you’re facing forward once more, before a strap is placed across your forehead.

“Do what you can to keep still for as long as possible,” the doctor instructs.

You have to stop yourself from nodding.  “Alright.”

He steps out of the room, going to join Bucky in the observation room.  The other heroes are in there too, both for moral support and to see what the results of this experiment will yield.  The doctor runs through a system check, to make sure everything is up and running, before he starts the machine.

The table you lay on, moves into the scanner.  Once you’re in position, the magnet begins to rotate and the machine comes to life.  It’s loud, even with the ear buds in.  You try to calm your breathing and close your eyes.

Bucky’s muscles are tense, his eyes not leaving your form as you move into the machine.  The doctor is typing into the computer, getting the machine prepared and bringing up the image of your brain onto the monitor.  “I’m going to record this session, just as I did with yours, Mr. Barnes, for future reference,” the Doctor speaks aloud.

He hits a button on the key board, and the recording starts.  “This is a test of Patient Y/N Karpov’s brain activity while undergoing Hydra triggers placed in her brain 20 years ago.  As of this moment, patient’s brain looks healthy, activity levels are slightly higher than normal, probably due to the new exposure to the MRI scanner.  Mr. Barnes, proceed when ready.”

Bucky releases a slow breath, the anxiety within him not going away.  He steps back to the microphone that transmits directly to your earpiece.  He presses the button to turn it on.  “Krasavitsa…” His mouth is dry, his tongue feeling like sandpaper.  “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he finally speaks.

The others are looking intently at the monitor, but Bucky keeps his gaze locked on you.

“Holy shit!  Did you see that?” Sam cries out.

“It’s so fast,” Steve comments in interest.

“There was a huge explosion of activity right before everything went dark,” Nat observes.

“And now there’s only muted activity,” Wanda finishes off.

Bucky watches your body intently, noticing the way you’ve tensed up.  Its mere seconds before you start pulling against your restraints.  The longer you go without being successful, the harder you pull.  It won’t be long before you break something.  And it might just be yourself.

“Turn off the machine,” Bucky orders, grabbing everyone’s attention.  They’d all been preoccupied with staring at the monitor, they weren’t paying attention to you.  “God damn it, pull her out!” he screams, watching as your thrashing grows worse.

The doctor turns to his nurses.  “Give her a shot of the serum Mr. Barnes had us make.”

They rush back into the other room, one trying to hold you still while the other lifts your shirt and inserts the injection into your side.  Your body stills for a moment and the others watch the monitor again.  Your brain activity level rises, almost to normal levels, but the next second, it drops once more.

The thrashing becomes even more violent than before.  You actually manage to break an arm free from the restraints.  You reach over to your other hand, clawing at the restraints, either not knowing or not caring that your nails are digging into your own flesh and beginning to draw blood.

“Sedate her!” the doctor urges through the microphone.

As the nurses scramble for a sedative, Bucky pushes away from the window, only to be stopped by Steve. “You can’t go in there while the machine is still running,” Steve reminds him.

“Then fucking turn it off!” Bucky screams, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“It’s off.  You can now enter the room,” the doctor informs.

Bucky doesn’t waste a second.  The machine is still active, but the spinning is slowing down as the table automatically begins to move out of the tunnel.  He pulls the straps away from your face, gently cradling your cheek.  “Krasavitsa,” he calls, looking for some sort of reaction.

“She’s been heavily sedated,” the nurse explains.

Bucky huffs in annoyance and quickly gets to work on removing the rest of your staps.

“Buck…” Steve speaks quietly, stepping next to him and reaching out to help.

“Don’t. Touch her,” Bucky growls possessively.

Steve frowns, but he understands where the hostility is coming from.  “It’s not your fault.  You couldn’t have known how she would react to the serum.”

Bucky barely gives him a glance as he lifts your limp body into his arms.  “I never should have agreed to this in the first place.”

He turns and walks out into the hall.  Sam, Nat and Wanda are there, eyeing him warily.  “You don’t know what state she’ll be in when she wakes up,” Nat tries to warn.

“Sedation doesn’t work on you, remember?” Sam states.

“Bucky, at least let them patch up her wrist,” Wanda reasons.

He gives his friends a glare they’re all too used to before he yields, taking you to a room nearby and setting you down on one of the medical beds.  He pulls a chair up, as physically close as possible to you without actually sitting on the bed.  He watches the doctor with eyes of a hawk and the barely contained rage of a former assassin.

The doctor quickly applies a disinfectant cream to your cuts, before wrapping a bandage over the wound and leaving Bucky alone with you.

Bucky watches you sleep, the tension slowly easing from his body as he matches his breaths with yours. His hand reaches out, fingers lacing through yours.  He starts a gentle swipe of his thumb against the back of your hand.  An hour passes before you begin to stir.

Your brow furrows, a soft groan escaping your lips.  Bucky tenses slightly when your eyes open, beginning to prepare himself for your reaction. Your head tilts gaze meeting his. You stare for a long moment, almost like you’re trying to work things out in your head.  “How’d it go?” you finally ask, your voice cracking a little.

Bucky is shocked for a moment, not expecting this reaction at all.  “Uh… not that great,” he finally responds.

You frown.  “What happened?”

“They tried to give you the injection.  It made you worse.”

Your eyebrow jerk up in surprise.  “Really?” You move to push yourself up, only to stop when you feel a jolt of pain in your right wrist.  “Shit.  Did I do this?” you ask, lifting your arm to inspect the bandages.

“You were about ready to claw your own arm off to get out of the restraints.  Scared me half to death.”

You wince, only able to imagine Bucky’s reaction to the ordeal.  “Sorry…  Did you have to knock me out again?”

Bucky shakes his head. “They sedated you to get you to stop struggling.  Thought I would have to after you woke up, but you seem fine.  Sedation never worked for me.”

“Huh… Guess this is something else that’s different.”

“Guess so,” Bucky agrees.

“What were the results of the scan?” you ask.

Bucky shrugs, his lips falling into a pout.  “Dunno. Everyone’s been keeping their distance after I snapped at them.”

You release a snort of laughter, shooting him an amused look.  “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you Krasavchik?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up slightly as he leans back a little more comfortably into his chair.  “You know, I’m pretty sure Wanda is the only one I haven’t actively tried to kill.”

You grin and shake your head.  “No wonder they went so long with just knocking you out.  They probably enjoyed it.”

Bucky scoffs.  “Probably.  I know Sam did.”

You push yourself up, this time being more careful with your wrist.  Your hand is still connected to Bucky’s as you shift to the edge of the bed. He pushes himself out of his chair and helps you to your feet.

“You okay to walk?” Bucky asks.  You’ve just come out of sedation, and he’s pretty sure you might need to allow your body to rest more.

You wave him off.  “I wanna know what happened,” you insist.

He nods slowly, but keeps ahold of your hand and sticks close to your side just in case.  He leads you down to the lab room, where everyone is already waiting around, looking at the monitor on the wall.  They look over upon your entrance.

“You’re okay,” Nat speaks, looking relieved.

You give her a small smile. “Looks like whatever was in the sedative helped to snap me out of it.”

“That’s good to know,” Sam responds.

You pull Bucky further into the room, glancing again at the screen.  “So, what did we find out?” you ask.

“We’re waiting for the images to render,” Steve informs.

“Almost done,” the doctor tells you.

And sure enough, it’s only a few more minutes before the video is done.  The doctor steps up to the screen as the rest of you settle into chairs around him.

“For comparison reasons, I thought I’d show Mr. Barnes’ brain scan first,” as he speaks, the video you watched before begin to play out on the screen.  “This is in real time, the trigger words showing on the screen just below the image.  You see that with the first few words, there is actually an increase in activity. This is what we’ve started calling the resistance phase.  It’s Bucky’s first reaction to the triggers, a self-defense mechanism if you will. However, with each word spoken after the initial burst of activity, you can see certain parts of the brain beginning to shut off.  And by the time the last word is spoken, there is nothing left of Bucky’s personality that would require the need for resistance, only compliance.”

The doctor touches something on the screen and soon a new brain scan appears.  “This is Ms. Y/N’s brain in real time…”  You see the words  _I love you_  appear on the screen, signifying when Bucky said it to you. There’s a quickly flash of activity in your brain, before everything goes completely dark.  The darkness lasts for a fraction of a second, before activity resumes, but it’s not nearly as much activity as what it was earlier.

“The concentration of activity right at the center here, is your panicked reaction to being held down by the restraints,” the doctor explains.  “And this is what happened after we injected you with the serum.”

Once more, there’s a flurry of brain activity.  But just like when you were first triggered, everything goes dark for a brief moment and comes back to muted activity.

You watch the screen, your brow furrowing.  “I don’t understand.  What just happened?”

The doctor allows the video to cycle through again and turns to look at you.  “It would appear that with the way your trigger works, you do not respond well to extra stimulus.  You have your set mission, and when we try to add the serum in, your brain thinks of it as a distraction and reacts accordingly by shutting everything down and resetting you to keep you focused.”

Bucky leans forward in his seat, his gaze washing over the image of your brain.  “So, increased activity puts her brain on the defensive. What happened when we gave her the sedative?” he asks.

“Unfortunately, the machine was shut off before they gave her the injection, but based on her mindset upon waking up… It would appear that the sedative allowed her brain to shut down in a manner different enough from the trigger shut down, that her brain activity could come back to normal function.”

“So, like rebooting your laptop in Safe Mode,” Sam makes the comparison.

The doctor nods, “In a way, yes.”

You cross your arms over your chest and lean back in your seat.  “So, is there any information that we can gather from this scan that might help us learn how to stop the trigger from taking effect in the first place?”

The doctor seems to hesitate before answering your question.  “That is unclear, I’m afraid.  We can certainly try, and having it as a comparison to Mr. Barnes’ scans will be very helpful.  But we will have to wait and see.”

The silence lingers throughout the room for a moment as you all try to process this new information. Steve is the first to push himself out of his seat.  “I guess that means we should all get back to work to try to figure this out.”


	11. Missiya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Миссия: Missiya : Mission

You pull your tired eyes away from your brother’s notebook, reaching a hand up in an effort to rub the fatigue out of them.  You’ve been staring at this book and the other materials available to you for several days now.  The words started blending together an hour ago, but you kept pushing.  Progress wasn’t being made fast enough.

T’challa’s doctors were doing what they could with yours and Bucky’s brain scans.  You’d been banned from helping them when they went to play back the recording of your scan and the sound of Bucky saying  _I love you_  had been enough to trigger you.  You’d nearly taken out a technician before they managed to sedate you.

So, it was back to the notebook for you, but looking at the same things over and over was beginning to drive you nuts.

Your gaze gets pulled to the door when it opens.  You give Bucky a tired smile when he steps through and moves toward you.  “Hey,” he greets.

You straighten up from your crouched position over the desk, looking up at him as he comes up beside you. “Hi.”

His head leans down until your lips connect.  The kiss is short and sweet, meant to accompany his greeting rather than inciting anything deeper.  “How’s it coming?  You’ve been in here a while.”

You release a long sigh, fingering the pages of the notebook.  “Not as well as I’d like, to be honest.”

You feel his hand against your back, gently guiding you away from the desk.  “Come on,” he jerks his head toward the door.

“Where are we going?” you ask, taking a few steps with him.

“Training,” he responds.

You stop short, tilting your gaze to look up at him.  “Training? What?”  You shake your head and start to move back to the desk.  “No, I have too much work to do.”

Bucky’s hands on your hips prevent you from moving any farther.  “You’ve been staring at that book for hours.  You’re going to go blind.”

You raise an eyebrow, fixing him with a look.  “That’s not how it works.”

“You need a break, Krasavitsa,” Bucky tells you gently.  “You need to get out of this room and move your body.”

A slow smirk spreads across your lips.  “I think I did enough  _moving of my body_  last night. Don’t you agree?”

He gives you a knowing grin, eyes shining in amusement.  “Not  _that_  kind of moving.”

He curls his arm around your waist and pulls you out of the room.  You walk together to the training room where Bucky leads you to the treadmill first.

“Start with a warm up,” he advises, dropping his arm from around you.

You keep your eyes on him as you step onto the platform.  “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”

The corner of his mouth twitches up as he crosses his arms over his chest.  “Because you need to give your mind a rest.  Besides, we also haven’t figured out how much the serum Karpov gave you has changed your body.”

You sigh quietly and begrudgingly turn on the machine.  You set a pace that feels comfortable and keep with it.  You’re a little surprised when you find that your body is able to maintain a constant speed without seeming to get tired.

“Faster,” Bucky orders.

You increase the speed. You can feel the effort increase of your body trying to keep up with the machine, but it’s still manageable.

“Faster.”

Your breathing is beginning to get heavy, the muscles in your legs heating up.

“Faster.”

Bucky continues to push until the machine is at its maximum setting.  You can only hold this speed for a few minutes, before you’re grabbing the handrails and lifting yourself off the belt.  “Jesus, are you trying to kill me?” you ask through panting breath.  You place your feet down on the outside edge of the treadmill, so you can free up a hand to lower the speed.

“Just trying to figure out your limits, Krasavitsa.”

You set it to a brisk walking pace before placing your feet back on the belt.  “The limits to my body or to my patience?”

He smirks, the amusement shining brightly in his eyes.  He knows better than to respond to that one.  “Alright, let’s move on to strength.”

You step off the treadmill and follow him to one of the many weightlifting machines.  He teaches you how you use it properly, advising you on your technique, so you don’t pull any muscles.  You surprise yourself with how much weight you can actually lift.  You hadn’t really realized how much your body did in fact change.

“Can we do the simulation room?” you ask after having gone through several different weightlifting machines.

Bucky releases a low chuckle.  “If I’m going to have you spar, it’ll be with me and not some hologram.”

You look up at him over your shoulder, grinning widely.  “Eager to put your hands on me, Krasavchik?”

He grins back. “Always.”

“Buck.”  The moment between you two is interrupted by Steve’s approach.  You both turn to watch him walk over.  Steve glances between the two of you before settling his gaze on Bucky.  “Can we talk for a bit?” he asks, gesturing with his head toward the door, meaning he wanted privacy for this conversation.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. You feel his hand on your lower back as he leans down to place a kiss against your temple.  “Keep working, I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” you nod, watching the two of them leave before turning back to the weight machine.

‘Be right back’ ends up turning into an hour.  You run through a couple more weight systems, at least the ones you can figure out on your own.  After that, you cycle through some of the floor exercises that were part of your typical exercise routine back in Siberia.  You realize that a lot of your movements have become more fluid. There’s almost an elegance to your technique that makes it a little more effortless.

You look up in surprise when the door to the training room slams open and bangs into the wall. Bucky has a glower on his face as he stalks straight toward you.

You turn to face him, eyeing him curiously.  “Hey, how’d it-”

You’re cut off when his arms are suddenly around you, pulling your body into his chest.  He holds you tight, head falling to your shoulder before he buries his face into your neck.

Your arms curl around his waist, hands splayed over his back.  “What’s wrong?” you ask in a soft voice.  You can feel the vibration of his tense muscles beneath your palms and it worries you.  “Krasavchik, you’re shaking.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grunts, arms tightening further.

You briefly wonder what the hell could have happened during his discussion with Steve that would put him so on edge.  But you also know not to push, not when he’s like this.  “Okay,” you soothe, running your hands over his back in calming motions. “Okay.”

You remain locked together for several minutes.  You do what you can to calm him down, run your fingers through his hair and over his back, place gentle kisses on his neck and cheek.  The shaking eventually stops, but his muscles remain tense.

“Bucky, would you like to join me for a shower?” you ask quietly.

He sighs a long breath before you feel him nod against your neck.  He stays in place a few more seconds and then slowly lifts his head. He grimaces a little when he sees the concern on your face, but he’s grateful that you don’t push him for information.

You entwine your fingers with his and take him with you to the locker room.  You both strip down in silence and step into the shower stall.  His body is pressed flush to your back as the warm water cascades down around you.  His hands glide over your waist and stomach in a feather light touch.  You feel the weight of his head where he rests his forehead against the back of your shoulder.

“Are you and Steve fighting over me again?” you ask briefly, nearly regretting it immediately when you feel his muscles tense behind you.

His body slowly begins to relax, his arms holding you close as his lips brush against the back of your neck.  “We had an argument, yes.  But you’re not at fault.”

You turn in his arms, resting your hands over his bare chest.  “But it was still about me, wasn’t it?”

He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that you’re right.

“What’s going on, Buck? You can talk to me,” you encourage in a soft voice.

He winces and glances away. “I know, I just…”  He sighs, slowly bringing his gaze back to yours. “I need some time to process the things he told me.  Okay?”

You frown, your brows pinching in concern before you nod.  “Okay.”

His hands gently cup your cheeks before his lips are meeting yours.  You kiss back sensing that he may need the reassurance of your touch.  One of your hands moves to cup the back of his neck, arching your body into his.  He backs you up against the cool tile of the shower.  His hands are on you once more.

He traces out your curves, seeking the familiarity of your skin beneath his fingertips.  You’re patient with him, understanding that he’s not doing this to arouse you, but because he’s seeking the comfort you can give him.

When his mind has finally started to settle and the world isn’t spinning so fast around him, Bucky pulls back.  You both finish your shower together.  Drying off, you change into clean clothes and head to dinner.

The tension between Steve and Bucky does not go unnoticed by the rest of the team.  Everyone is walking on eggshells, doing their best to not set off either of the super soldiers.  It makes for an incredibly awkward dinner, most of the conversation being held between Sam and Wanda.

It’s not until you’re getting ready for bed that night when Bucky finally opens up to you. “Krasavitsa…” he calls from the bedroom as you’re finishing brushing your teeth.

Toweling off your hands and face, you walk back out to his room.  He’s sitting on the end of the bed, head bent low and hands clasped between his spread knees.  His gaze carefully lifts to yours as you approach.  He looks tired, weary, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  You reach your hand out, pushing some of his hair out of his face and running your fingers against his scalp.

“Steve thinks there might be more information at the facility you were held in.  When we first went, we didn’t get a chance to check any of the computer systems.  He thinks we should go back.”

Your head tilts, looking at him in slight confusion.   _This_  is what has been putting him so on edge?

His gaze drops to his clasped hands.  “I don’t want to make you go back to the place.  Not after the things they did to you there.”

Understanding dawns on you. You step closer, in between his legs; your fingers brush at his cheek to get him to meet your gaze once more. “You’re worried about me.”  You give him a small smile.

His hands reach for your waist.  “I’m always worried about you.”

You lift a knee to the bed, next to his hip, your shin against the top of his thigh.  “I don’t mind going back there, Krasavchik.  To be honest, I still don’t remember much about that place.”

This doesn’t seem to ease his comfort, if anything his frown seems to deepen even more.  “Being there might bring those memories back.”

You feel the gentle tug on your hips as he encourages you to sit in his lap.  You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, settling on his thighs.  “As long as you’re with me, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you smile again.

Bucky releases a small sigh. “So you want to go?”  You’re not sure why, but he almost looks defeated.

“If it gets us any closer to figuring out how to break our triggers, then yes.  I’ll do anything,” you assure him.

He nods like he heard you, but there’s a faraway look in his eyes that shows his mind is elsewhere. Leaning down, you brush a kiss to his forehead.  “If we’re going out tomorrow, we should get some rest, Krasavchik,” you advise, slipping off his lap to crawl up the bed and under the covers.

He moves to join you, arms holding you close once again.  You fall asleep a few minutes later, but Bucky’s mind doesn’t settle so easily.  His mind focused on all the possible scenarios that can occur while on mission the next day.

When you wake up the next morning, Bucky has long since left the bed.  You get up and get ready on your own.  Nat finds you in the kitchen and takes you to get fitted for a tactical uniform.  “Suit up. Barnes is waiting for you in the hangar bay,” she tells you.

You nod, slipping into the black uniform and combat boots.  The material is lightweight, yet sturdy, giving you the flexibility you need to move, while still providing protection.  You walk out to the main hangar.

There’s only one jet that’s being prepped for take-off.  The back ramp in down, allowing you to see the back of Bucky’s head as he runs through a system check.  You walk up the ramp and go to him, placing your hands on the back of his chair. “Hey,” you greet with a soft smile.

He glances up at you briefly before turning back to the main panel, flicking a few switches on. “Hey,” his reply is curt, not really even warm.  “We should get going, it’s a long flight.”

You frown slightly at his aloof behavior.  You realize that he’s probably still anxious about the mission, so you try not to take offense.  You take a seat and strap in as Bucky raises the back ramp.

“This is Barnes, preparing for takeoff,” Bucky speaks.

“You’re all clear,” a voice responds through the jet’s coms system.

The jet comes to life, moving out of the hangar and initiating a vertical takeoff.  Once you’re in the air, the jet shoots forward and you’re onto your destination.  With Bucky so on edge, you don’t think it would be wise to try to strike up a conversation, so you remain silent, lost in your thoughts.

You had thought that you were mentally prepared for this, but Bucky’s anxious attitude was beginning to leak into your own.  You had to keep telling yourself that there was nothing to be afraid of.  The building had been abandoned for years. There was nothing left that could give cause for concern.

By the time you land just outside the facility, you can feel that a knot has formed in your stomach. You unstrap yourself from your chair and move to grab your gear.  You open up the weapons closet and try to decide what you’re going to grab.

“Krasavitsa,” Bucky calls quietly.

You’ve barely turned to face him before his lips are on yours, one arm around your waist, the other curling into the back of your hair.  You’re a little shocked at first, especially after the cold shoulder he’d been giving you all day.  But you quickly ease into it, feeding off the sense of urgency you’re getting from him. He holds you impossibly close, lips meshing until you don’t know where he stops and you begin.

You pull back with a gasping breath, your head a little dazed.  “Wow…” you utter breathlessly.

His hand in your hair slides forward until he’s cradling the underside of your jaw.  “You own me, Krasavitsa,” he whispers, gaze flickering between yours.

His behavior now is beginning to make you even more anxious.  “You own me, too,” you whisper back.  “Krasavchik, what’s going on?”  You’ve got a distinct feeling that he hasn’t told you something.

He sighs, releasing you and stepping back.  He moves to a chest that you had assumed was for more weapons.  Lifting the lid, he reaches in and pulls out a familiar metal briefcase.  “I want you to have one of these with you.  Just in case,” he tells you, opening the case and pulling out a syringe.

“What the hell do you think is going to happen in there?” you ask incredulously, staring at his outstretched hand.

“I don’t really know, which is why we have to be prepared.  Take it,” he orders.

You hesitantly reach for it, pulling it out of his fingers before finding a place to stash it on your belt.  “I think I’m beginning to regret coming on this mission,” you mutter under your breath. You move back to the weapons closet, pulling out a handgun and checking it over before placing it into your thigh holster.

You feel Bucky’s hands on your waist as he steps up behind you.  He leans forward to brush a kiss against your temple.  “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers into your ear.

You grab a couple of knives and some extra ammo before turning to face him.  “Let’s just get in, see what we can find and then get out. The sooner we’re back home the better.”

Bucky nods in agreement. It doesn’t escape his notice that you just called being in Wakanda with him your home.  He releases a slow breath, trying to steady his increased heartrate as he reaches for his own weapons.  “Let’s go.”

You both depart the jet and enter the building, guns raised and on high alert.  You move as one, acting as each other’s shadows, falling into the routine you’d developed together 20 years ago.  Since neither of you are particularly familiar with the layout of this building, you have to do a little exploring.

You eventually find a computer room, and you turn on the first one to check the database. Luckily, being a twenty year old computer, you actually know how to use it.  You login to the system and run a search on the files.

“There’s not much here, and most of it is encrypted.  It’ll still be good to download and check things out back in Wakanda,” you advise, glancing up at Bucky.

He nods, telling you to proceed.

You pull out a memory disk and initiate the downloading procedure.  “This might take a while.  Even though there isn’t much, the computer is incredibly slow.”

Just as you finish speaking, an alarm blares throughout the room and the lights go dark.

“What the hell?” you hear Bucky as he moves closer to you, gun raised and ready.

“Shit, we must have tripped something by initiating the system.” You try to go back to the computer, but it’s been shut off as well.  “Power’s gone out for this whole room.”

“We should move. Now,” Bucky urges.

Flashing red lights illuminate the hallway every few seconds, matching with the blare of the alarm. You both walk with extra caution, trying to prepare for future surprises.  “Do you think maybe we should alert the rest of the team?” you ask quietly.

Bucky shakes his head. “Steve and the others are outside.”

You stop walking, looking at him in shock. “What?  Since when?”

Bucky stops too, glancing at you from over the top edge of his rifle.  “I had them follow us in case something went wrong.  Good thing I did too.”

You stare at him in confusion.  “If they were here, why didn’t they just come inside with us?”

Bucky sighs.  “That’s a little more difficult to explain.  But it’s probably better this way.  They’ll figure out how to get us out.”

It’s then that you begin to hear static in your ear piece.  “Guys… ne-… now.”

Bucky lowers his weapon, reaching up a finger to his own earpiece.  “Steve, is that you?”

“Get… -ow.  ‘s here.  Hurry!”

Bucky glances at you and you shake your head to tell him that you weren’t able to catch the transmission either.

“Steve, I can’t understand you.  Who’s here?” Bucky asks.

“Zemo!!!  Get out, now!”

You actually feel your heart drop to your stomach as you and Bucky share a panicked look.  You’re on the move in the next second, using your enhanced abilities to fly through the hallways.  You reach the door that you came in though, only to find that it’s been sealed shut.

“Can you break it?” you ask.

Bucky punches at the door with his metal fist, resulting in a loud clang, but the door still holds. He shakes his head, “Doesn’t look like it.  They probably built this whole building with the mindset of keeping me out.  In case I ever learned you were being held here.”

“Well then, what do we do?” you ask, feeling the panic growing deep in your belly.

Bucky reaches back up to his earpiece.  “Steve, you there?”

“Yeah.  Where are you?”

“The building’s on lockdown. We can’t get out.”

“Shit!”

“Where’s Zemo?” you ask Steve.

“We saw him go in there with you.  He’s got a team from the Joint Counter Terrorist Unit out here.  They’re preventing us from getting to you.”

“Did any of them come inside with him?” Bucky asks.

“Don’t think so.  Not that we saw.”

“Alright.  We’re gonna keep trying to find a way out and hopefully avoid Zemo in the process,” Bucky states.

“Be careful.  Don’t underestimate him,” Steve warns.

“We know.”

“And Buck…  I’m sorry, but we’ve gotta abort the mission.”

Bucky gives you a brief glance, something flashing over his eyes that you don’t quite understand.  “I know,” he eventually responds.  The static cuts out and Bucky moves to reposition his rifle.  “Ready?”

“What mission was he talking about?” you deflect.  “I thought we were here to get information.”

Bucky sighs, unable to meet your gaze.  “I’ll explain later.  First we need to get out of here.”  He takes off before you can question him further.

You move quickly but are even more alert than before, looking for any signs of Zemo’s presence. You eventually find yourselves in a large room at the center of the facility.  It goes three stories up with a domed glass roof.  Bucky pauses his movement, his eyes following the walls. “We can climb our way up and break the glass to get out.  We’ll be on the roof, but it’s better than being stuck inside.”

“Okay,” you nod. There’s a series of pipes running all over the walls, a couple of grated platforms along the second story and a balcony that runs the circumference of the room at the third story, a catwalk connecting one side to the opposite end.  You make your way to an area with some lower hanging pipes, only to be stopped by an accented voice.

“Mr. Barnes, Ms. Karpov, it’s so good to see you again.”  Zemo’s voice seems to echo around the room, so it’s difficult to locate his position.

Bucky finds him first, up on the third story balcony.  He lifts his rifle and shoots.  There’s a flash of color and a loud twang as Zemo lifts an item to deflect the bullet. It takes you a second to realize what it is, but the red, white and blue is a dead giveaway.  Captain America’s shield.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Bucky growls out.

Zemo remains safely tucked behind the shield, knowing that Bucky’s a good enough shot to get him even if he just slightly peaks over.  “Secretary Ross gave it to me.  Tony Stark had to give it up.  It belongs to the government, after all.”

“How did you manage to convince Everett Ross to let you out?” you ask.

You can hear the smirk in his response.  “You made a big mistake in coming to see me, Ms. Karpov.  You gave them the proof they needed to know for certain that T’challa was harboring the fugitive heroes.  As long as I was willing to divulge the information I had on you and Mr. Barnes, they were all too eager to let me out so I could bring you both in.”

“So you’re here to take us back to Berlin,” Bucky surmises.

“Yes,” Zemo confirms. “And that’s dead or alive.”

Bucky protectively backs you up against the wall, keeping his eyes and gun trained on the shield. “You really think you can kill us?”

“Oh, I know I can.  Be it would require far more effort than if you both were to do it for me.”

You feel your heartbeat skyrocket as a sick feeling forms in your gut when you realize where this is going.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Bucky growls.

“I’m sure you’re a reasonable man, Mr. Barnes.  At least, you used to be.  How about we strike a deal.  Trigger Ms. Karpov, allow her to kill you and I’ll let her go.  Your body comes back with me to Berlin, the Secretary and Deputy Ross are happy and your lover is still alive.”

“How about I just fucking kill you and the two of us walk out of here unharmed?”

“Buck!” you hush, gripping the back of his shoulder.  The sickening feeling isn’t going away.

“If you don’t agree, I’ll be forced to go with the second option.  And that means neither of you come out alive,” Zemo warns.

Bucky can feel your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.  He feels like a cornered animal, a feeling he’s all too familiar with from before, and he fucking hates it.  “Go to hell, you bastard!”

Zemo releases a sigh, as if this is such a burden on him.  “Suit yourself.  Zhelaniye,” he starts, following the circular path of the balcony.

Both you and Bucky tense in awareness as you realize what he’s doing.

“Rzhavoy.”

He’s  _memorized_ Bucky’s triggers!

Leaping into action, Bucky shoves his riffle into your hands and jumps onto the pipes to begin to climb up the wall.  “Semnadtsat’.”

Lifting the gun, you take shot after shot at Zemo, each bouncing helplessly off the shield.  “Rassvet.”

Bucky releases an inhuman scream, pulling himself onto one of the lower platforms.  “Piech’, Devyat’, Dobroserdechnyy,” Zemo continues without care.

Bucky jumps for the edge of the balcony.  He misses. “Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu.”

He tries again, this time running up the wall to gain some upward momentum.  “Odin.”  His fingers wrap around the edge.  With a growl of effort, he lifts himself up and over the rail.  “Gruzovoy vagon.”  Only to completely stop moving.  “Soldat,” Zemo finishes, lowering the shield to observe Bucky.

The Soldat stands there in silence for a long moment.  Your heart beats out of your chest with each passing second.  Just when you begin to hope that maybe it didn’t work, his lips part and he speaks.

“Ya gotov otvechat’”

“Zemo, please don’t do this!” you cry out desperately.  “We’ll go with you willingly, just please…  Don’t make him do this.”

“This is the only way,” he responds, no remorse in his voice.  “Kill the woman,” he orders.

The soldat robotically turns away from him, his gaze dropping down to zero in on you.  He swings himself back over the rail, falling the three stories and landing effortlessly in a low crouch.

“Krasavchik, don’t let him control you.  I  _know_  you don’t want to do this,” you plead, knowing that there is no point, but feeling like you should try anyway.

He stalks toward you, eyes blank and focused on his prey.

“Bucky stop!” you order, training the rifle on him.

He doesn’t even pause, as if knowing already that you won’t use it on him.  “Ty moya missiya.”   _You are my mission_.

He darts forward, metal fingers grasping the front of the rifle.  You know that if he gets his hands on it, he  _won’t_  be afraid to use it.  You quickly flip the switch to release that magazine, pulling it out just in time for the rest of the gun to get pulled out of your fingers.

He glances at the magazine in your hands before looking at the now useless gun.  He tosses it to the side, the rifle flying across the room and sliding even further across the floor upon landing.  He unsheathes a knife from his belt.

You use the magazine to deflect his first attack, the blade slicing against the metal with a searing screech.  It doesn’t take him long to toss the magazine out of your hands too.  You do what you can to avoid his metal arm.  If he grabs you, he can lock the metallic plates together and it’ll all be over.

“Krasavchik, you have to fight it!”  Your mind is so focused on self-defense, it takes you a moment to remember that you’ve got the syringe in your belt.

You duck and jump to the side when his hand swipes out to grab you.  You tuck and roll, ending in a low crouch.  You reach into the pouch on your belt, your fingers curling around the syringe.  You wait for him to take a few steps closer before you dart forward.

His reflexes are too fast, metal fingers wrapping around your extended wrist.  He glances down, seeing the syringe in your palm.  With a twist, you cry out at the sharp pain in your arm, your fingers opening in reaction and the syringe falling to the floor. The Soldat kicks it away.  “No!” you scream, watching your only chance of escape slide out of reach.

The palm of your free hand slams up into his chin, causing his grip to loosen on your wrist and you break free.  You dash for the syringe, only making it a few steps before the Soldat tackles you to the floor.  You jam your elbow back, getting him in the nose.  He pauses long enough for you to crawl forward.

Your fingers have just barely brushed against the body of the syringe when he flips you over, onto your back.  His metal fingers curl around your throat, squeezing tight.  It hurts.  God, does it hurt.  But you have to try to ignore the pain, your hand reaching blindly for the syringe.

You can feel the burning of your lungs as black spots dance across your vision.

Finally, you feel the plastic against your fingertips.  Lifting your hand up, you jam the short needle into the Soldat’s neck.

His hold on your throat eases up almost instantly.  You gasp and cough as air floods your lungs once more.  You see the light flicker back into his eyes and if you could, you would have released a relieved breath.  The serum worked.  Bucky looks down at you and look of horror flashing over his face when he realizes what’s happened.  “It’s okay,” you try to soothe, but your voice comes out raw.  “I stopped you, it’s okay.”

He glances at the syringe in your hand, his face looking pained.  “I’m sorry.  Fuck. I’m  _so_ sorry.”  He gasps for breath, tears welling in his eyes as he meets your gaze once again.  “Krasavitsa I didn’t want to do it this way, but now we have no choice.  Ty spravish'sya.”   _You can do this_.

You frown in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”`

You don’t even have enough time to panic before the world is going black.


	12. Lyublyu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> люблю : Lyublyu : Love

The first sound you seem to hear isn’t really much of a sound.  It’s an incessant ringing… or maybe a buzz?  Your mind is so foggy, you can’t think.  You feel like you’re floating.  Or… maybe you feel like you’re grounded to one spot.  You’re not entirely sure…

You don’t remember what’s going on.  What were you just doing?

The world around you slowly comes into focus.  You’re in a large room.  Cement walls circling around you.  The ceiling is high; made of glass.  You still can’t exactly remember what you were doing here.

“Congratulations, Ms. Karpov.” A voice comes from above.  “You just successfully completed your mission.”

You lift your gaze, finding a man standing on a catwalk directly above you.  He looks familiar.   _Zemo_.  The name flashes in your mind, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Then the words he’d said begin to filter in.   _Mission?  What mission_?

You feel the weight of something in your palm.  Glancing down, you realize it’s a gun.  Your hand is shaking.

It all hits you at once as you realize what’s happened.  You drop the gun like it burns your flesh, quickly looking around.  There’s a body on the floor, not far from your position. A large body.

“Bucky!”  And suddenly you’re moving, falling to your knees beside him and pulling him onto his back.

He’s completely limp, eyes closed, blood dripping from the side of him mouth.

“Oh God.  No!” you moan, cradling his cheek.  Your entire body is shaking now.  “Bucky, please!  Open your eyes!”

You don’t get a response.

You drop your head down, listening for signs of breathing.  Nothing.  You check for a pulse.  Even with the shakiness of your hands you can tell that there’s nothing there either.

“No!” you shout.  You rip down the zipper of his jacket, pulling the material away.  The under armor he wears underneath, though black, is soaked in blood.  You place your hands on the center of his chest, one over the other and begin a series of chest compressions.  “Don’t do this!  Please! I’m  _so_ sorry!”  You count out 30 compressions before removing your hands.

Bending over his face, you tilt his head back with one hand and close his nose with the other.  With your lips against his, you watch his chest rise as you push air into his lungs.  You separate your mouths to inhale before exhaling into him again.

You place your hands back on his chest, starting the compressions once again.  “Bucky, you have to come back!  Don’t you dare leave me!  Not like this!”

You perform mouth-to-mouth once again.  You don’t know how long you spend performing CPR on him.  Longer than you ever thought you would have to.  You’re so focused on your task, you don’t hear the multiple footsteps headed your way.  Or when the people approaching call out your name.

All you feel is a pair of hands wrapping around you, trying to pull you from Bucky’s body.  “No!” you scream, trashing wildly against them to get back to him.  You can’t stop trying to save him.

“Y/N!  It’s okay.  Let Steve take him.”  A long moment passes before you recognize Natasha’s voice.  Her arm is wrapped over your shoulder and across your chest, pulling you back.  You cling helplessly to her forearm, leaning back against her and sobbing loudly.

“Oh my God.  Nat, I did it.  I killed him!”  The tears flow like a waterfall down your face.  “I didn’t mean to!  Bucky, I’m so  _sorry_!”  The blur from your tears clouds your vision.  You can barely make out the image of Steve and Sam lifting Bucky’s body off the floor, a pool of dark red blood left in his wake.

The sight makes you sick. Especially knowing that  _you_  are the cause of so much blood.  You lean to the side and promptly empty anything that had been in your stomach.  You retch and heave even when there’s nothing left.

You feel like you’re choking.  Like your drowning and getting pulled deeper and deeper.

Natasha sits with you, holding you tight, trying to wait for you to calm down.  When she realizes that’s just not going to happen, she gets you onto your feet and walks you out to the jet, basically carrying your dead weight, since you can’t even move.

You don’t remember the flight back to Wakanda, just that Nat is suddenly pulling you out of your seat in the jet before she takes you to your room.  “Let’s get you into the shower, okay?” Nat asks you gently.

You can’t respond. Even if you wanted to.  All you want is to crawl into bed.  Both your mind and your body are exhausted.  You want to wake up and find out that all of this was just a bad nightmare.

Looking down, you realize why Natasha is insisting on a bath.  You can’t even see the skin color of your hands, it’s just red.  Pure, violent red.  It’s all over the uniform too.  Bucky’s blood.

Seeing the panic welling up in your eyes, Nat quickly ushers you into the bathtub, uniform and all. She turns on the water, lifting the tab to redirected the water to the handheld showerhead.  The water is a shocking cold when it first hits your skin, but it helps to provide a distraction to your impending panic attack.

Nat reaches for your hands, spraying as much of the blood off as she can.  You watch the water turn to pink as it glides toward the drain. Once the water is warm, Nat carefully begins to pull your uniform off.  You sit there like a doll, obediently letting her do what she wants.

She leaves you in your bra and panties, but you can’t really find it in yourself to care about modesty right now.  She lathers shampoo into your hair and follows that with conditioner.  She then uses a washcloth and body soap to clean the last of the blood from your skin.  She rinses you off one last time before shutting off the water and pulling you out.

You stand on the bath mat, shivering a little as the cool air hits your wet skin.  Nat drapes a towel over your shoulder, rubbing over your arms before getting a smaller towel for your hair.  She guides you back into your room, grabbing a set of pajamas and fresh undies for you.

The shower gave you just enough energy to change into the undies and a tank top on your own.  But that’s all you can manage before you’re crawling into your bed.  Nat disappears back into your bathroom for a few minutes before returning, changed into a different set of pajamas from your drawer.

She crawls into the bed behind you, curling her body to yours and holding you in a comforting embrace.

All you want to do is sleep, but another wave of tears hits you hard.  Your body is racked with silent sobs, the tears soaking into your pillow.  Nat runs a comforting hand up and down your arm, whispering soothing words in Russian.

You don’t know how, probably just from sheer exhaustion, but your mind eventually seems to settle into a dreamless sleep.

Nat is no longer there when you awaken.  Your eyes are swollen when you try to crack them open to get your bearings.  The drapes to your window are still firmly shut, but the slivers of golden light that manage to break through the gaps are bright enough to suggest the sun has been up for a good amount of time.

The room is dead silent. You don’t realize until now how accustom you’d grown to the sound of another person’s breathing while you were lying in bed.  It’s silent enough that you can hear the hushed voices just outside your door.

“When can we tell her?” you recognize Nat’s voice.

“We need to give her time to grieve.”  That’s Steve.

“You didn’t see her last night.  This is beyond grief.  This is killing her.”

“Then hopefully that means it’s working.”

“Steve…”

They must have walked off, because you can no longer hear their conversation.  You roll over onto your other side, not particularly caring about what they could have been talking about.  You stay in bed all day, transitioning between bouts of crying that result in you exhausting yourself enough that you fall back asleep, only to wake up and start over again.

You’re pretty sure a full day has passed when you feel a warm hand against your back.  “Y/N, you need to eat.”  It’s Wanda.

You shake your head, curling even further into a ball.

“You do realize I could make you if you continue to say no.”

You release a long sigh, slowly pushing yourself up and turning to sit back against your pillows. Wanda pushes a warm bowl into your hands.  You stare down at it a moment.  It’s soup. Probably another one from her home country.  You lift the spoon to your mouth.  You’re only able to taste half of the flavor.  With all the crying you’ve done, your nose has become stuffed up; therefore, your taste buds are all messed up.

You continue to eat while she sits and watches you to make sure you finish.  When the bowl is empty, your hands fall to your lap.  You stare down at it for a long moment, sitting in silence.  “Wanda, what am I going to do?” you whisper.

She thinks about her answer a moment.  “What you have always done.  Survive.”

A tear falls directly from your eye and into the bowl, making a soft clink upon landing.  “I don’t think I can.  Not from this.”

“Just give it a few more days,” she encourages.

You shake your head. A few more tears falling.  “I just want to forget!”  You slowly lift your gaze to hers.  “Can you make me forget?”

She gives you a pained look before she shakes her head.  “No. But maybe I can help to take some of your pain away.”  She reaches to take the bowl from you, setting it aside before gesturing for you to lay back down.

You close your eyes as she begins to spin her magic.  You feel a warmth building from inside you as the red glow engulfs your body.  The heat chases away the pain, to the point where you can actually feel your muscles starting to relax.

It’s not long before you’re drifting to sleep…

You awaken with a start, the sound of a gunshot ringing in your ears.  You sit up, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. Wanda’s magic may have given you a small reprieve from the pain, but now that the effects have worn off, it’s so much worse.

Her magic must have unlocked the part of your brain that held the memory of what happened. Because you’d just dreamt about it. Quite vividly.  The way you’d fought rabidly to get to Bucky.  How he tried to defend himself from your more vicious attacks without hurting you.  How he kept repeating how sorry he was, trying to get through to you.  How you’d shot him in cold blood, without any remorse.

Your breaths come short and fast.  Your throat is closing up.  Your stomach heaves.  You kick off the blankets, racing to the bathroom.  Your knees crack against the tile as you slump over the toilet, what’s left of Wanda’s soup leaving your system.

Your entire body is shaking when your stomach finally stops squeezing.  You rise onto unstable legs, stumbling to the sink to rinse your mouth. Your legs give out soon after. You don’t fight it.  Curling into a ball against the cold tile floor.  It almost feels nice against your burning, tear stained cheek.

The memory plays out in your mind over and over again.  You can’t think of anything else.  Even as you fall back to sleep.

You wake up the next day, back in your bed.  You don’t know who moved you, nor do you care.  You just can’t take the pain anymore.  You’ll do just about anything to make it stop.  Even if that means something crazy.  You crawl out of the bed, your legs still weak from going mostly unused the last few days.  You slip on a loose pair of pajama pants and step out of your room.

The dramatic change in lighting makes you wince, but your eyes quickly adjust.  Your bare feet pad silently on the floor as you walk through the facility.  You eventually find yourself in the medical lab.  The room is devoid of all staff.  It’s a little strange, but you don’t question it.  If anything, you’re grateful that there’s no one here to stop you or ask you questions.

Moving the mouse for the main computer, you bring the screen to life.  You do a quick search through the files on the computer and it doesn’t take long for you to find what you’ve come for.  The audio file from your brain scan.  Clicking on it, you wait for the file to load.  It doesn’t take long.

“This is a test of Patient Y/N Karpov’s brain activity while undergoing-” you skip ahead a few seconds. “Mr. Barnes, proceed when ready.”

Your heartbeat begins to pound in anticipation.  “Krasavitsa…” You can hear the hesitation in his voice, but god damn it you just need the pain to go away.  You need to hear him say- “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

A strangled sound gets ripped from your throat.  Something between a wail and a moan.  You fall to your knees, shoulders heaving with heavy sobs.  Tear after tear drips from your burning eyes.

The trigger doesn’t work.

If anything, now you feel even worse.  Because you realize that this is the last thing he said to you.  And now he’s dead.  Now these words are the only thing left of him.  And yet, they’re also the only reminder of what horrible things you’ve done.

The pain builds even more inside of you.

Lifting your blurred gaze, you click back, hoping that it’ll work the second time.

“-itsa… Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Nothing.

Again.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Again.

“Ya tebya-”

Another strangled cry builds in your lungs, clawing at you from the inside out.  The longer you try to suppress it, the more it seems to shred you to pieces.  You can feel it crawling up your esophagus, like talons piercing the sensitive flesh. “I’m sorry!!!” you eventually scream, unable to keep it in any longer.  “I’m  _so_  sorry Bucky.  I couldn’t fight it.  I wasn’t strong enough.  I never wanted to hurt you!”

You slump back, sitting on your bent knees, continuing to sob as the recording plays out.  Hearing his panicked voice and how worried he is for you only makes you cry harder.  The recording ends.

You sit in the silence of the room for all of 5 minutes before you can’t take it once more.  As soon as you’re back on your feet, you’re moving up to the rooftop.  You sit in the secluded corner you went to the last time you were up here.  Curling into a ball once again and just allowing the tears to flow.  You know there’s no fighting it.

At least out here, the jungle life provides enough background noise so you don’t feel so alone.

You don’t feel like you’ve been out here long before the roof access door opens and someone approaches.  You hear them take a seat next to you, but you just don’t have the energy to lift your head to look at them.  It’s probably Nat or Wanda.

“Y/N?”

Steve’s voice provides enough of a shock that you at least open your eyes, even if you can’t lift your head.  “Are you here to kill me for what I did to Bucky?” you ask.  This seems to be a common theme for the people that find you up here.  Why is it that the ones that have a vendetta against you are the ones to come looking for you?

You hear him sigh. “No.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” you mumble.  “I kind of want to kill me too.”

“Y/N… what happened… it wasn’t your fault.  You weren’t in control,” Steve tries to comfort you.

Your sigh mimics his. You slowly lift your head up enough to rest your chin on your bent knees.  “But I still did it.”

Steve exhales sharply in a short laugh.  “You know, Buck said the same thing once.”

You feel the tears burn your eyes but try to hold them back for Steve’s sake.  “That doesn’t help.”

“Right.  Sorry.”  Steve clears his throat awkwardly.  A crying woman has never been his strong suit.  “There’s actually something I need to talk to you about…”

You briefly glance at him, waiting for him to continue.

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans before pulling out a syringe.

You recognize it instantly. “The serum I gave Bucky.”

Steve nods.  “Yes, however, it wasn’t  _just_  the serum that was in here,” he tells you cryptically.

“What do you mean?” you ask, brows furrowing.

“It also contained Tetrodotoxin B.”

Pulling your eyes from the syringe, you look up at him.  “Am I supposed to know what that is?”

Steve’s mouth twitches into a small smile as he shakes his head.  “No, I guess not.  It’s a powerful neurotoxin that can slow the heartbeat to one beat per minute.  The former director of SHIELD used it to fake his death.”

It takes you a while to process his words.  You’re not entirely sure what he’s trying to tell you.  But then it seems to hit you at once.   _He faked his death_.

The tears burn like fire in your eyes as you continue to try to hold them back, but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult.  You shake your head fervently.  “Don’t do that, Steve.  Please don’t give me false hope like that.  I know you don’t like me, but this is the cruelest thing you could ever do.”

Steve looks at you sadly, ashamed that he’s treated you so poorly that you would automatically think he was lying to you about this.  He holds your gaze to make sure there is no chance for miscommunication when he says his next words.  “He woke up an hour ago.  Been asking for you ever since.”

You choke on your gasp, your hands coming up to cup over your mouth.  There’s no stopping the tears now, but it doesn’t seem so painful anymore.  “He’s okay?”

Steve nods, his lips tilting up ever so slightly.  “A little worse for wear, but yeah.  He’s alright.”

A broken sob comes out next, but it almost sounds like a laugh.  Your shoulders seem to lift a little in relief.  “Can I see him?”

Steve smiles genuinely this time, “Of course.  God knows there’s no one else he’d rather see right now.”

Steve takes you back down to the med bay.  You realize now that the lab had probably been empty earlier because all of the staff had been with Bucky.

You burst through the door to his room, only to stop about halfway in.  Bucky is there alright.  The bed he’s lying in is in a lifted position, allowing him to sit upright. But he’s awake, alert and very much alive.

“Oh God!” you breathe, because there was still a part of you that believed this was too good to be true.

“Krasavitsa,” he smiles.

Your feet are moving once more and you don’t stop until you’ve launched yourself at him, quickly burying your face into his neck as you lay half on top of him.  He grunts, partially from surprise and partially from pain, but his arms are quickly around you and pulling you in even closer.

“I’m so sorry!  God, Bucky, I’m  _so sorry_!”  You don’t know how your tear ducts haven’t dried up yet, but they’re still flowing freely.

“Shh, Krasavtisa,” he whispers soothingly.  “It’s okay.”

“I thought I killed you! I thought you were dead.  I thought-”

“I know.  Shh…  I know.” His fingers slide through your hair as he tilts his head to brush his lips against your forehead.  “I didn’t want to do it like that, but when you had to use the serum on me… there was no turning back.”

Lifting your head up you can see the regret in his eyes.  You try to wipe away your tears and get control over yourself.  “I still don’t understand…  Steve said there was a neurotoxin mixed with the serum.  But why?”

“The doctors… they said that the key to breaking your triggers was the grief you would feel from losing me.  That severe grief has the ability to rewire the brain.  I didn’t want to do it, at first.  Steve’s plan… it was insane and so much could go wrong.  So much  _did_  go wrong.”  Bucky releases a huffed breath, thinking back on the mission.  “Zemo wasn’t supposed to be there.  It was going to be a controlled environment.  The rest of the team was supposed to follow us in.  Make sure nothing too serious happened.  We needed to make it  _look_  real enough that you’d have a real reaction.”

“It  _was_  real!” you stress, pushing yourself away from him, so you’re sitting upright.  “Your heart stopped.  I shot you! There was blood everywhere!  God Bucky!  This was too close.  If the team hadn’t gotten to us when they did…”  You shake your head at the thought.  “What if I had succeeded?” your voice sounds so small, broken, and cracked from days of crying.

“But you didn’t.  I’m here.  I’m okay,” he tries to console you.

“But  _I’m_  not!”  You wipe at your tears in frustration, glancing away from him.  “I saw you  _die_ , Bucky.  Even if it wasn’t real.  It was to me. And not only that but I-  I was the one…  I  _killed_ you.”  You choke a little on your words, the memory of Bucky lying motionless on the floor playing vividly in your mind.

Bucky winces a little has he pushes himself even further upright, no longer using the bed as support. “Krasavitsa.  Shit, I’m so sorry.  I knew that this was going to be hard on you.  That’s why I didn’t even want to do it at first.  But the doctors and Steve… they were so adamant that this would be the only way.  I had to risk it.  I had to trust you.”

His warm palm cradles your cheek, gently lifting your gaze back to his.  You look back in confusion.  “Trust me?  Trust me to kill you?” you ask.

He gives you a soft smile through the concerned expression already on his face.  “Trust you  _not_  to. You were aiming for my heart, Krasavitsa.  You had a clear shot, but at the last moment, you lowered your aim and got me in the side. That was  _you_.  That was you beating Hydra.”

You release a shuddering breath, your mind racing at this knew revelation.  That’s not how you remember it playing out in your mind.  And even if that were true, it didn’t make you feel any better.  It doesn’t feel like you beat anything.  “Then why does it feel like they still won?” you whisper brokenly.

His small smile melts back into a frown.  Ignoring the pain from his movements, he leans forward until your foreheads are resting against each other.  “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.  We’ve been through too much, I’m not letting you slip through my fingers again.”

You close your eyes, tilting your head forward slightly to brush your nose against his.  “I don’t think that’s something that you can promise,” you whisper.  In this line of work, especially with your backgrounds, death was almost a greater possibility than life.  The recent events made that all too clear.

You feel Bucky’s breath against your lips as he sighs.  “I just wish we knew if all of this was worth it.”

With one last brush of your skin against his, you pull back, opening your eyes once again.  “There’s one way to find out.”

Bucky’s clear blue gaze pierces into your very soul.  His thumb gently swipes again your wet cheek as his eyes flicker between yours.  “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he whispers quietly.

For the first time in three days, a small smile graces your lips.  It hurt before to hear these words coming from the recording.  But now that they were coming directly from the source, you could feel some of your pain chipping away.  Your eyes soften as you nuzzle your cheek further again his palm. “Say it again.”

Bucky’s eyes ignite with wonder and happiness, his lips cracking into a smile.  “I love you.”

You feel your smile growing even bigger to match his.  “Again.”

“I love you.  I love you.  I lov-”

You can’t help the girlish giggle that escapes your throat, the sound almost foreign to you.  You lean forward, quickly capturing Bucky lips. You can feel his smile against yours. The kiss is a little sloppy as you both share it through your laughs.  Bucky’s hand shifts to cradle the back of your head to pull you in even closer.

“I love you,” he breathes against you when you begin to pull back.

“I love you, too.”

The message shines loud and clear in his eyes.  And even though you still felt that pain and the weight of your actions, as long as this man continued to look at you the way he is now…  Maybe there was a chance that you’d make it out of this.  Maybe you’d learn to be okay again.


	13. Koniets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Конец : Koniets : The End

You startle yourself awake, sitting up so quickly your head spins.  You release a soft groan, closing your eyes and trying to relax your breathing.

“Krasavitsa…”  You feel Bucky’s hand against your lower back before he pushes himself up as well.

“Sorry,” you whisper, apologizing for waking him up.

“It’s alright.  Tell me what I can do.”  He’s learned quickly over the last few days that your nightmares come at different intensities, and each requires a slightly different form of comfort.  Sometimes you just need to be held, taking in his scent and listening to his heartbeat. Sometimes you need him to tell you out loud that everything is fine, that he’s okay, that what happened wasn’t real. In the more desperate times, you need the full reminder that he’s alive, to feel the brush of his skin against yours, to have his breath fill your lungs, to have him take you to heights you know only he can.

“This one was different,” you mumble, keeping your back to him.  “I didn’t complete the mission…  The Soldat completed his first.”

You can feel him stiffen behind you.

You bend your knees to wrap your arms around them.  “Kept telling me that I deserved it.  For all the pain I’d caused him…  Caused you.”

“Y/N.”  Bucky shifts closer, moving to sit behind you.  His hands gently wrap around your waist, pulling you back into his lap.  “I  _don’t_  think that.”

You release a small sniffle, leaning back against his strong chest.  “I know, it’s just…  What if  _he_  does?”

Bucky leans his head down, resting his forehead against your temple.  “You’re worried about today, aren’t you?”

“The last time the Soldat left his mission unfinished, he was determined to go after Steve.  I just… I don’t know if I can handle seeing the way he looked at me, again.  I’d gotten so used to the Soldat seeing  _me_ , that now…”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers. When he’d first woken up, he hadn’t realized how close the Soldat had actually come to killing you.  He figured there had been a fight, he just didn’t realize how severe it was.

The team had created a plan to activate the Soldat today, to try to get Zemo’s orders out of him.  You and Bucky had agreed to it, he just didn’t know how much it was affecting you.

“You were able to talk him out of it before.  We’ll figure this out, just like we have for everything else,” Bucky tries to reassure you.

“But this time, I  _am_  the target.  I can’t do anything!  I-” You try to choke back your tears. You’re so  _sick_  of crying!  “I feel so useless.”

Bucky’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you in even closer.  “Krasavitsa, the last time you were scared to activate the Soldat… Things ended up working out for the better, didn’t they?”

You shrug a shoulder, “I guess.  But what if it’s different this time.  What if we can’t fix it?”

“Then, we’ll keep trying until we do,” Bucky responds with determination.

That helps to snap you out of it a little.  You turn your head to connect your gaze with his.  His unwavering, blue eyes chase away the doubts that are arising within you. “You make it sound so easy,” you huff out a small laugh.

“Maybe it will be.  We won’t know unless we try.”

You shift so you’re now facing him, legs bent around his hips.  Your hands rest against his bare chest.  “I’m still scared,” you whisper.

His gaze softens, hands gently squeezing your waist.  “I know. But we can’t let fear keep us from moving forward.”

Your lips fall into a small pout.  “Didn’t I tell you something similar a few weeks ago?  You can’t use my words against me.”

He smiles in amusement. “It’s good advice.”

You mumble a few choice words in Russian, burying your face into his neck and loosely wrapping your arm around his torso.

He laughs, hands splayed over your back.  His fingers run gentle circles over the shirt you wear.  The longer he does it, the more your muscles begin to gently relax. “I love you,” he tells you in a soft voice.

Hearing him say those three little words never fails to bring a smile to your lips.  And God, does he know it.  You nuzzle even further against him, your smile pressed to his skin.  “I love you, too,” you mumble in response.

“It’s going to be okay, Krasavitsa.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in for once.  “I trust you, Krasavchik.”

Now that you’ve calmed down, the two of you lean back against the pillows once more, pulling the blankets back in place, to catch a few more hours of sleep.  Bucky keeps you close, to the point where you’re more on top of him than on the mattress.  His injuries were mostly healed, so you weren’t worried about hurting him anymore.

You’re luckily not plagued by nightmares, this time.  When you wake up again, you feel a little more prepared for the events of the day. You and Bucky get ready together before meeting with the team in the kitchen.  As a group, you run through the plan for the day.

“So, Nat’s going to read from the book to activate the Soldier,” Steve explains.  “If he begins to engage, you have to be firm in getting him to stand down.  Give him a new mission, if you have to.  If he engages anyway, I’ll run interference while Sam gets Y/N out of there.”

The group nods in agreement, going over a few more details before moving to the room with Karpov’s notebook.  Bucky stops you in the doorway with a hand against your lower back.  “Are you alright?”

You take a deep breath before nodding.  “I’m still nervous, but I know that we have to do this.”

He leans down, brushing a kiss to your forehead.  “I love you.”

You close your eyes and smile.  “Love you, too Buck.”  You blink up at him when he pulls back, the two of you conveying your emotions through your gazes.

With a mutual nod, you both finish stepping into the room.  Bucky takes a seat in the center of the room, while you position yourself near the door.  It’s strange to see the notebook in Natasha’s hands as she approaches.  Even though you trust her, you don’t like the idea of Bucky being controlled by anyone else.  Not that you felt like you had the right either, but at least you knew you could trust yourself with him.

“Ready?” Nat asks, looking at Bucky over the top edge of the notebook.

Bucky nods, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  He releases a long breath, watching his fingers fiddle together.

“Zhelaniye,” Nat starts.  Your heart pounds harder with each word that escapes her lips.  Bucky keeps his head down, so you can’t see his expressions as Nat cycles through the listed words.  She comes around to his front, ending with a resolute, “Soldat?”

There’s no response from Bucky for a long moment.  And then he lifts his head, his hardened gaze already locked on you.  He stands fluidly and starts forward.

“Soldat, stand down,” Nat orders.

He ignores her.

“Soldat, you have not been given orders to act.  I repeat,  _stand down_.”

Steve quickly steps in, blocking the Soldat’s path.  “Buck, listen to your Commander.”

The Soldat doesn’t even give him a glance, keeping his eyes locked on target.  “Move.”  The word comes out like ice, tinged with the threat of consequence if his demand is not met.

You feel a warm hand curl around your upper arm.  “Time to go,” you hear from Sam before you’re pulled back.

A ferocious growl rips out of the Soldat’s mouth.  “ _Don’t touch her_!”  He tries to step around Steve, but the former Captain blocks his efforts.

“Get her out of here, Sam!” Steve orders.

Sam tugs you closer to the door.  “No, wait!” you protest, putting your hand over Sam’s trying to get him to let go of you.

“Are you crazy?  We need to go,” Sam yells.

You glance back at the Soldat.  His gaze is still on you.  He looks frustrated that he can’t get past Steve, but he’s not  _threatening_.  That air of danger that usually accompanies the Soldat isn’t there.  If he really wanted to kill you, he wouldn’t be letting Steve stop him so easily.

“There’s something different about him,” you tell Sam.  Glancing back at him, you hold his chocolate gaze, “I’ll be fine, Sam.”

He hesitates, looking at you doubtfully, before slowly releasing his hold on your arm.

“Steve, let him, through,” you instruct.

Steve hesitates as well, but he also knows that if the Soldat really wanted to get through, he wouldn’t hesitate to take Steve out in the process.  Steve backs down, but stays on the Soldat’s tail as he approaches you.

Your eyes remain locked on his, some of that initial nervousness coming back the closer he gets. “Soldat, what are-”

His left arm curls around your waist, pulling you into his chest before his lips are crashing against yours.  You emit a surprised squeak, not expecting this move on his part.  He kisses you hard and thoroughly, not with the intent of causing pain, but more with an edge of desperation.  Overcoming your shock, you respond to the kiss, tilting your head back in submission and gently placing your hands against his chest.

When he pulls back, you’re left in a gasping, dazed mess.  He keeps the surprises coming when he’s suddenly on his knees, gripping your hips and pressing his forehead to your stomach.  “Izvini, Krasavtisa,” he mumbles quietly.   _I’m sorry_.  He shakes his head against you.  “I don’t deserve your kindness.  I don’t deserve  _you_. I never wanted to hurt you.  Not again.”

“Krasavchik,” you soothe, running your fingers through his hair.  “I don’t blame you.”

His hands clench around your hips.  You can hear the waver in his voice as he speaks.  “I didn’t want to listen.  I  _tried_  not to.”

You place your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself as you drop to your knees, as well.  He meets your gaze with ashamed, red-rimmed eyes. You gently cradle his cheeks in your palms.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

You give him a small, but sincere smile.  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

His gaze flickers between yours, looking for even the slightest hint of malice in your eyes. He feels so much for himself, that he knows there has to be some in you.  But no matter how hard he looks, he doesn’t find any.  “I  _won’t_  let it happen again,” a determined look flashes over his features.

You smile sadly.  If only it were that simple.  But after holding his gaze for a long moment, you realize that there had been a  _lack_  of a response from him after Nat activated his triggers.  Frowning in both confusion and curiosity, you can’t help but ask, “Soldat… what’s your status?”

The determined gaze doesn’t fade.  The only change in his demeanor is a stubborn twitch in his jaw as he remains stoic and silent.

Your heart skips a beat at this unexpected turn of events.  “Soldat… who is your Komandir?” you ask, coming from a different angle.

The stubborn tick comes back.  “I am my own Komandir.”

Your breath seems to rush out of your lungs all at once.  You take a second to process his words, before you’re tugging at his face until your lips meet.  This kiss is fierce, if not a little savage, as your lips mesh together, open mouthed. You feel his cold metallic fingers against the heated skin of your neck.  Your tongue comes out to slide against his plump lower lip, getting a taste of him before you’re sucking his lip between your teeth.

He releases a low groan before pulling back and resting his forehead against yours.  “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he breathes.

You smile brightly, “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

He moves in for another kiss, this one less frantic and more intimate.  His lips soon divert away from your mouth, starting a trail over your cheek and down your neck.  Your lips part as you tilt your head back.

“How did this happen?” you ask breathlessly.

You feel his shrug when his shoulder brushes against yours.  “Don’t know.  Don’t care.”

You want to laugh in response but he takes this moment to sink his teeth into your neck and all you can do is moan.

Someone awkwardly clears their throat before you hear Sam pipe up.  “I think this might be our queue to leave…”

You push the Soldat back, despite his groan of protest, your cheeks flushing.  You glance up at the other three.  Sam and Steve look mildly uncomfortable, looking anywhere but the two of you.  Nat has a huge smirk on her lips, the notebook dangling useless from her fingers. “Sorry,” you mumble in embarrassment.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing the Soldat curiously.  “Do you think this is permanent?”

The Soldat glances at him briefly.  “I will  _not_  allow anyone else to use me.”

Steve nods in understanding. “Alright.”  He glances back to Sam and Nat.  “We should check in with the doctors.  See if they might know how this happened.”

You watch the three of them leave until they’ve disappeared through the door way.  When you glance back at the Soldat, he’s already watching you. Your cheeks heat even more under the intensity of his gaze.

He takes your hand, moving up to stand and gently pulling you up as well.  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he apologizes again, fingers brushing gently against your neck.

You give him a reassuring smile.  “I’m alright, Krasavchik.”

“I do not blame you for what happened either,” he whispers.

You look up at him, your vulnerabilities shining clear in your eyes.  “I don’t know what I would have done if I had actually killed you.” You feel the tears building up again, prickling the back of your eyes.

“But you didn’t.  And that’s what’s important.  The past can no longer hurt us.”  He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace.  You rest your cheek to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“Zemo is still out there,” you remind him.  He’d disappeared when you were trying to revive Bucky.  And the team was too focused on getting Bucky to medical attention to go looking for him.

The Soldat releases a low growl.  “The next time I see that man, I’m ripping him apart with my bare hands.”

You nuzzle your face against his chest.  “Although, because Everette Ross released him, T’challa has grounds to get the Sokovia Accords repealed.  They abused their powers, releasing a convicted felon for their own purposes…”  Lifting your head up, you lock your eyes with his. “Soon you’ll get to go back home.”

His gaze softens as he looks down at you.  “I already am home.”


End file.
